


(The Time It Takes) To Believe In Fate

by LydiaStJames



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Happy ending don't worry, M/M, Please see the note at the beginning of the first chapter for warnings, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-01-08 00:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 100,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaStJames/pseuds/LydiaStJames
Summary: When he was 16, Adam walked into a forest in Henrietta, Virginia and exited in 1800s Ireland. The day he spent with the grumpy but attractive farmer lingered with Adam for years, but the forest didn't seem like it would appear again. That is, until Adam returned to Henrietta for his father's funeral and the forest calls him back once more.To Ronan.





	1. A Prologue of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I'm back after a million years! Thanks for clicking this story. Before you read, I want to mention a few things:
> 
> 1\. This story is 95% complete, I'm just finishing up the last chapter. Time travel is wonky and has the potential for so many plot-holes that I wanted to write the whole thing before I posted it. I plan to update one to two times a week. While I post this I'm going to work on a companion piece for it. I'll give more details on that later.
> 
> 2\. This has a happy ending, I promise! And NO that doesn't mean that Adam will meet some descendant of Ronan in his time. I hate when time travel stories do that. It's not the same person! 
> 
> 3\. This is a time travel story and, as such, has Adam going back to times when societies were very homophobic. Please know that, while the characters reference this society and react to it (for instance, Ronan tends to look over his shoulder often when he's in public with Adam because he's nervous), but there will be absolutely NO slurs, NO public shaming, NO violence, etc. In other words, they acknowledge it exists but no harm will ever come to any character because of their sexual orientation. (I wasn't sure if I should tag the fic with "homophobia," so if there's ever a moment where you feel like it should be, just let me know. That goes for any tags, really.) 
> 
> 4\. This story does reference Adam's abuse, as part of the reason I wrote this is exploring how you move on and heal from abuse. That being said, I personally am not interested in reading/writing scenes where Adam is hit or degraded so you won't really see them here. Having been abused myself, though, I understand that sometimes the smallest of things can be really triggering, and as such, I'll give you a heads up if Robert Parrish or Adam's mom appear. Robert Parrish does "appear" in this prologue, but for about two sentences. 
> 
> 5\. Last! This chapter is the ONLY one where Adam is underage and absolutely nothing happens between him and Ronan, other than Ronan thinking he's a very, very weird kid. There is a time jump immediately after this and Adam will be 21.

Adam realized he was bisexual the way he assumed most people did: by walking out of a magical forest and into the 1800s. There was something about Irish farmers, apparently.

 

He told himself this joke when the separation was unbearable. When he was stuck in the now, wanting to be back in the then. When it was too much to remember the past and what it held, but too painful to not think of it at all, so he used that stupid, stupid joke for reminiscing.

 

Of course, it wasn’t actually that simple.

 

* * *

 

What happened was this: at the age of sixteen, Adam was riding shotgun in an old, beat-up Chevy truck when his father threatened to shoot him. Adam had done something - something insignificant and stupid and definitely not worth threatening your son for - and it upset Robert Parrish enough that he stopped the car in the middle of an empty field. As his hand clenched the gun, Robert told Adam he could get out or get shot.

 

They were miles from home, miles from _anything_ , so it really wasn’t much of a choice. Still, Adam scrambled out of the car and watched his father drive away.

 

Behind him was a forest of trees. Ahead of him was miles of empty road. He knew better than to walk into a forest with no guide, but he also knew it was a diagonal route back to Henrietta. If he cut through the woods there was the potential to save himself a solid four miles of walking.

 

Adam looked at his shoes: they had holes. He looked at the sky: the sun was dipping low. Soon it would tuck itself into the land for a rest. Adam took the risk and walked into the forest.

 

The trees were thick, branches slapping against his cheeks no matter how he pushed them aside, but it was so pleasingly quiet. Empty, but not eerie. He had no watch, no cellphone, so Adam didn’t know how long he walked. All he knew is that by the time he saw a clearing in the trees, his feet were begging for a break.

 

So it was his annoyance that kept him from realizing something was amiss when he left the forest. Adam didn’t notice the surprisingly green fields, the lack of cars, the sudden grey clouds that covered the sky. Instead, he focused on the unrecognizable barn and how it was definitely _not_ Blueberry Hill, the orchard he’d have run into if he had only stayed straight through the forest. Somehow he must have gotten off track.

 

Adam weighed his options. From a distance he could see a man working in a herd of cattle. He hated asking for help, especially from a random Henrietta stranger, but he saw no other option. If he was lucky, Blue would be near done with her shift at Nino’s and could come get him. As he walked down the hill and to the farm he recited a speech in his head. _Hello, Sir, my name is Adam Parrish. I got lost in the woods and I was wondering if I could borrow your phone._

 

The man didn’t notice him coming over the sound of the cattle. Adam had to clear his throat twice to get his attention. The farmer turned to him, the frown on his face quickly turning contemplative as his eyes scanned over Adam.

 

“Hi,” Adam said.

 

The man nodded at him, expression back to a glare.

 

Adam pressed on, hoping that if he just talked fast it would make it all go away faster. “My name is Adam and I think I’m lost.” He wet his lip with his tongue. “Could I borrow your phone?”

 

The man blinked at him. He grabbed his bottom lip with his thumb and pointer finger and twisted it, as if Adam’s request was something worth seriously considering. His eyes lowered to Adam’s body again, causing Adam to tug at his shirt. It felt absurd to be judged by this man, who himself wore an extremely dated, white button-down covered with grime.

 

“I’ll only be a minute, I promise,” Adam muttered.

 

The man cleared his throat and finally spoke. His voice was deep and lilted, and it took Adam’s brain a minute to register it as an accent.  “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Can I borrow your phone to call my friend?”

 

The man ran his arm across his forehead, wiping away invisible sweat, and went back to frowning at Adam. He was trying extremely hard not to fidget in a self-conscious stupor. They couldn’t have been _that_ different in age, as the man didn’t have a single blemish or wrinkle marking his skin that betrayed too many years passed, but his body was built in the way that signaled he’d left puberty behind for good. While Adam was long, with protruding elbows and ankles and ears, this man had broad shoulders, remnants of a beard recently cropped, and some semblance of actual muscle.

 

“Where you from, kid?”

 

 _Where are_ you _from?_ Adam wanted to ask. He sounded British-- wait, no, Irish. The only accents he heard around Henrietta were of Southern variants. How did the man manage to set up an entire farm in Henrietta and not lose his accent? By the looks of the farm there was no way he was a recent addition to the city. (Unless he was just a shitty farmer. That could explain the lack of fences, the shabby house that made Adam’s trailer look decent. Maybe he didn’t know better.)

 

“I’m out by Boyd’s, if you know that area. I thought I cut could through the woods but I must have got turned around,” Adam said as he pulled his arms close to his body, eyes darting to the sky. Why was it so cold all the sudden? It was summer and Henrietta never got this cold.

 

The man ran his hand over his scalp, fingers digging into dark curls. It was growing long in boyish fashion, just another thing that made it hard to place his age.

 

“You’re not from here, are you?”

 

Adam sighed. It had been an extremely long day, the last thing he needed was a farmer slow on the uptake. A particularly biting breeze disrupted his internal complaints, however, and he shivered.

 

The farmer jerked his head to the house. “Come inside. We’ll figure it out.”

 

It struck Adam that it wasn’t wise to follow a stranger into his house, but as he looked around the valley, he felt he was screwed either way. He could either run back into the woods or run into an empty field, knowing each direction likely led to more abandoned stretches, or he could follow the man and take the risk.

 

Anyway, Adam felt like he trusted the man, for whatever reason.

 

Stepping into the house was the first time that Adam felt that something was amiss. He didn’t catalogue it into words quite yet, but the sense of _not quite right_ crept up his neck. The house was...wrong. It was a little too dark, the only light coming from a small, dying fire in the corner. Adam didn’t see a single appliance, not even a sink. Was this place even up to code?

 

The man jerked his head to the fire. “Fix it, will you?” He then went into a small room in the back and disappeared.

 

Adam stared at the fire. _Fix it?_ _How?_ He’d never made a fire in his life. (It was one of those realizations that sent a sharp spike into Adam’s heart. Just another thing that Adam didn’t get to know. He bet Blue knew how to build a fire. She’d been camping with her family before and got invited to class bonfires.) There was a pile of wood next to the fireplace in differing shapes and sizes. Adam picked up one of the larger pieces and gently placed it over the embers, being careful to watch his fingers.

 

Nothing happened.

 

“Here.”

 

He felt something hit the back of his head. Adam spun, quickly trying to grab whatever the man had thrown at him. It was a white shirt to match the man’s, rough to the touch but shockingly thick, though it was thankfully devoid of dirt stains. Adam looked at the man, meaning to question why he needed it, but the words died on his tongue.

 

The man had pulled off his shirt and was walking around the room without a care. A fresh shirt was slung over his shoulder but apparently he didn’t plan to wear it any time soon. Adam’s eyes lingered a little too long on his naked chest and bare back. He wasn’t ripped like some celebrities Adam had seen in magazines, a pastime he’d taken up when the grocery store was slow and he had to wait at his register, but that was fine. Adam never saw the appeal of men like that - wondered why woman ever wanted that - but this was different. This was strong arms, broad shoulders, a tapered waist.

 

He swallowed instinctively.

 

Adam should have known right then. He still didn’t.

 

The man cleared his throat. Adam placed his hand on his own stomach, his palm spreading across it, and he clenched the fabric when the man turned to him with a sour expression. Caught.

 

“Is this for me?”

 

The man nodded. “Sun is going down. You need something warmer than... _that.”_

 

Adam looked at his t-shirt. It wasn’t anything fancy but he didn’t understand why the man looked at it with such judgement.

 

“Go on,” the man said, gesturing to the shirt he gave Adam. His eyes then skipped to the fire. He barked a rough laugh and walked over, hands on his hips. “What have you done here, kid?”

 

Taking advantage of the man’s back to him, Adam shrugged off his t-shirt and put the new one on. It wasn’t exactly comfy but the chill lessened quickly.

 

“I don’t know how to build a fire, sorry,” Adam muttered.

 

The man’s eyes slid back to Adam, again judgemental, but the expression dropped quickly enough. He grabbed a few smaller logs and waved them at Adam before he placed them into the fire.

 

“Start small. You need the fire to catch first.”

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

Adam looked around the room again. He didn’t see a phone anywhere. Maybe this guy was a minimalist?

 

“So, uh, do you have a phone I could borrow? If not, I need to--”

 

The man perched himself on a wooden chair. “What’s this you keep saying? Phone?”

 

“Yeah.” Adam tugged at his new shirt. It made him feel, once more, incredibly tiny compared to the man. They were almost the same height, but there was so much extra room across the shoulders and in the sleeves. Room that allowed for muscle Adam didn’t possess. “A cell phone? Wait, uh, or a mobile? I think that’s what you guys call them.”

 

The man blinked. Instead of answering he drawled, “You _guys_?”

 

“You’re...Irish?” Adam ventured.

 

“What kind of question is that?” He barked. When Adam flushed, the man rubbed the back of his neck and said, “And what are you? Brit, I assume? You Brits and your fucking accents. Always changing.”  


Adam was starting to get very confused. What was this man on? “No, I’m from here.”

 

“Bullshit. You’re not Irish,” the man said.

 

“Uh, no? Not… that I know of,” Adam muttered, confused at the discussion now.

 

The man seemed equally perplexed. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, eyes searching Adam once more. It was awful. Why did he have to stare at him like that? (And why hadn’t he put a shirt on yet?)

 

“How old are you?” The man asked.

 

“Sixteen.”

 

“Barely still a baby, but a baby still you are,” the man confirmed. Before Adam could argue this point, the man (finally) tugged his shirt over his head and asked, “And your name?”

 

“Adam.” He didn't want to say his last name. His father had a reputation in town, and even though this guy was clearly new to Henrietta, Adam didn’t want to chance being associated with Robert Parrish. “You’re…?”

 

The man didn’t answer for a moment. Apparently a name was too much to ask for, even when Adam had just returned the favor. When the silence officially moved from awkward to downright uncomfortable, Adam muttered, “So… you don’t have a phone. How far from town are you?”

 

“‘Bout an hour’s walk. I’ll take you there tomorrow,” the man said.

 

“An hour?” Adam pressed his fingers into his scalp. How had he gotten so off track? That damn forest must have turned him around somehow. He wanted to ask about a car but he didn’t want to assume. Owning a car was common in Henrietta but if his family was barely able to save enough for a shitty truck, he couldn’t imagine this man having a secret Beemer anywhere.

 

Adam licked his bottom lip. “It’s fine, I need to get home. If you can just point me in the right direction--”

 

The man snorted. “You leave now you’re just going to get lost. Sun is going down, cold is coming out. You can stay here for the night, help with the animals in the morning, then I’ll take you in.”

 

“I’ll be fine--”

 

“Kids these days. Stubborn as hell,” the man muttered. He turned in his chair to turn back to the fire, using a stick to poke the logs into a new position. The fire crackled with enthusiasm. “Look, kid--”

 

 _“Adam_ ,” he muttered.

 

“Fine, _Adam,_ you don’t seem to be from this area. You don’t seem to be from this…” The man trailed off, the word clearly on his tongue but being left unsaid. Instead, he waved his hand in the air. “You walk out this door and you’re going to get lost. Don’t look at me like that. _I_ get lost and it’s my own God-awful farm.”

 

Adam leveled his gaze at the man, hoping he could convey the question, _What about stranger danger?_ without actually having to say it. The man did not pick up the hint. Instead, he stood up and began rummaging through a wooden crate in the corner of the room and asked, “Hungry?”

 

“I’m fine,” Adam said. He was hungry, of course, but he already felt like an imposition. “Look, I can’t just… stay here.”

 

“Too simple for your taste?”

 

“No. This whole...minimalistic thing you have going on isn’t too far from what I’m used to. But I don’t even know you,” Adam said. “You won’t even tell me your name.”

 

He dropped a loaf of bread on Adam’s lap and said, “Mr. Lynch is fine.”

 

Adam scanned his memory, trying desperately to pinpoint that name. There was definitely no Lynch Farms in Henrietta and he’d never heard the name around town. There was no possible way he could have walked so deep into the forest that he came out in another town, right? Time did slip away from him when under the thick canopies, but surely he would know.

 

Later, when he told Blue the story, she thought it strange that Adam didn’t realize sooner that he was not in his time. It wasn’t that simple, though. Adam had always been rational and time travel wasn’t supposed to be _real._ Why on earth would he suspect he’d gone back in time? It didn’t even cross his mind.

 

“You can help yourself to some eggs if you need more. Chickens are out back,” Lynch said. He pulled a wooden bowl from a shelf and handed it to Adam. “Berries, too. Not much, I’m afraid, but beggars can’t be choosers and the whatnot.”

 

“This is fine,” Adam said. He picked at the bread. It looked home-made, lumpy and uneven but with a crisp crust. “Look, no offense Mr. Lynch, I really appreciate the offer to stay. It’s kind of…” _Please don’t make me say it._ When Lynch blinked back, Adam finished, “Weird?”

 

“You’re not the first runaway to stop by my farm and stay the night,” Lynch said.

 

“I didn’t _run away_ \--”

 

“I get a lot of those, too,” Lynch said with a roll of his eye. “Or what, is this a money thing? Don’t think you can stay without paying me? I should have know. You look and talk like one of those rich kids from down south.”

 

“I’m not _rich,_ ” Adam spat.

 

Lynch held up his hands in defense. “Alright, suit yourself. Then just help me out with the animals in the morning and we’ll call it even. That’s what everyone else does.”

 

“Everyone else?” Adam echoed.

 

“Like I said, you’re not the first kid to wander into my farm. Though the first who doesn’t know how to start a damn fire.” The latter fact was added with a tilt of Lynch’s eyebrow. At its arch, Adam sucked in a quick breath. Sensing Adam’s sudden worry - though there was no way Lynch could know the exact reason for why Adam’s stomach clenched - he waved his hand and said. “I’m only kidding. You can’t light a fire but you clearly have other skills. Your boots, you make them yourself?”

 

Adam looked at his sneakers. “What? These?”

 

“What else?”

 

“No, they’re just… I don’t know, I got them from Goodwill.”

 

Lynch frowned once more. Adam thought it ridiculous that teenagers got such a bad wrap for being moody when this man had yet to crack a single smile. Maybe it was good he ended up in Henrietta. He could use a dose of Southern Hospitality, especially if he frequently had visitors to his farm.

 

(Again, again, again, _why_ did it take him so long to notice? Sometimes, Adam wondered if he would have realized sooner if his first time going back in time wasn’t at just sixteen.)

 

Still, despite his constant frown, there was something about the feel of Lynch’s gaze on Adam that didn’t feel sinister. It struck Adam, then, that he ought to be freaking out. He was stuck, overnight, at a stranger’s house. Further, even though his father was the one to kick him out in the first place, it would not stand as an excuse for why he didn’t return home by curfew. When he got back there would be hell to pay.

 

And yet. _And yet._

 

Adam felt at ease. Maybe it was the warmth from the fire - which, after a little loving and prodding from Lynch, had grown enough to send a healthy glow throughout the room - just enough to feel as if he were surrounded by a thick blanket. Or maybe it was the shirt, smelling faintly like Christmas trees or grass or something earthy he couldn’t quite place.

 

Either way, Adam let himself pick at the bread and took a handful of berries from the bowl, rolling one in-between his fingers. Lynch seemed content with the silence and walked around the room, disappearing occasionally to his back room. Eventually he popped his head out and beckoned Adam with two curled fingers.

 

Adam followed, not knowing what to expect. What he found was an extremely small bedroom, lit up by a few candles, a wall of small shelves filled with books and random knick knacks to the left, and a haphazard bed made of layers and layers of poorly knitted blankets and something lumpy that was trying (but failing) to pass itself off as a mattress.

 

Lynch gestured to the bed.

 

Adam sucked in a quick breath. Was he insinuating that they would--  Did he expect that Adam would just sleep _with_ him? In one bed? In one, shabby and small bed, where you’d inevitably have to press your body up to each other because how could you not? He tried to imagine laying next to his man, alone, having to feel the press of those arm muscles against his and--

 

He wanted to smack himself. No, why was _that_ what he worried about? There was a more pressing issue here.

 

When Adam didn’t move or comment, Lynch rubbed his own arm and muttered, “It’s nothing fancy, but you’re welcome to rest in here. I’ve got a calf to watch over tonight, newborn who isn’t doing so well, so I’ll be in the back barn anyway. If you can read, books are there. Some in English, most in Irish as they are a bit old.”

 

The breath escaped Adam in a laugh. “Oh. Uh. Right. Thanks.”

 

What was he thinking? Of course the man wasn’t suggesting they sleep together. He wasn’t a creep, just a frighteningly attractive but disgruntled farmer.

 

“Washroom is out back, behind the house. You’ll be impressed with me when you see it, quite the set up. I’ve been told it’s ingenious, really. Rooster will wake you up in the mornin’ -- can you handle the chickens?”

 

Adam had no idea what it meant to handle the chickens but he was tired of seeming like a helpless fawn. So instead, he just said, “Yes.”

 

Lynch knocked twice on the edge of the doorframe - which had no door, now that Adam noticed - and said, “I’ll be out back if you need me.”

 

Adam waited until the front door shut before he sat down on the bed. It was not comfortable. Nor were the blankets covering it, or the makeshift pillow. Who _was_ this guy? He didn’t strike Adam as poor, because poor didn’t look like this. Lynch’s home reminded him of poverty tourists; the privileged few who decided small houses were “rustic” and prided themselves for selling all their shit and living minimally. Who wanted a taste of living like he did, but got the choice to leave at any time. People who didn’t realize how lucky they were to have _choice_ in any capacity at all.

 

He found himself disappointed in Lynch, which felt absurd. He didn’t know the man. He didn’t have any right, or hell, any _reason_ to hope for him to be better.

 

Adam looked outside. It felt unnaturally dark. It couldn’t be later than seven and yet it felt past midnight. He searched for the moon and found himself disappointed when he realized it was completely blocked by the clouds.

 

Adam looked around the room for a light switch before his eyes settled back on the candles. That was right. No lights. Of course.

 

Adam didn’t feel comfortable falling asleep yet so he ran his finger along the books, searching for any recognizable titles. Nothing stood out. He settled on one at random after deliberately ignoring the many religious texts (and after a short debate about whether or not Lynch could be Amish), pulled the book with him on the bed, and flipped through.

 

His eyes crossed. Adam knew his vocabulary wasn’t what it should be - a dirty secret he carried with him since junior high when his teacher chuckled at his misunderstanding of the term “benefit” - but the text felt absurdly difficult to read. He felt like he was reading Shakespeare, the words foreign and out of order.

 

Adam quickly shut the book. So Lynch could have muscles and build fires from scratch and run a farm, _and_ could read advanced literature like this? It wasn’t fair. The universe wasn’t supposed to work that way, you either got brawn or brain. Not _both._

 

He climbed under the scratchy blanket and pulled it over his head. It smelled like hay. It was not enough to distract him from the image of Lynch, shirtless, a memory which seemed unnecessary to remember at a time like this.

 

His first thought was to assume it was jealousy. But Adam was not immune to jealousy, knew it intimately. As he clenched his toes and bit the inside of his cheek, he thought of Blue and the way he felt when she lifted her hands above her head in a stretch and exposed her navel to the air. How that, _too,_ made his toes curl.

 

Adam groaned. He turned on his stomach and buried his face in the makeshift pillow, then instantly regretted it. Lynch’s pillows were not meant for wallowing.

 

At some point, Adam fell asleep. He woke plenty of times throughout the night, each time with a start and a wave of panic when he didn’t recognize his surroundings. The candles had burned out. He would wait, listening for sounds of Lynch in the side room, but was always met with silence.

 

When his small window betrayed that sunrise was finally here, Adam allowed himself to get up. He was never one to pass up extra sleep, but the constant waking up left him more exhausted than before. He was still wearing the shirt that Lynch had let him borrow and he briefly considered taking it off. A quick look at the fog outside convinced him otherwise.

 

Lynch was still not in the house. Adam took advantage of the empty room to snoop, eventually stumbling upon more bread, more fruit, and some dried meat. He picked at it carefully, shuffling the meat around in an attempt to cover up the missing piece. He cut the thinnest slice of bread, stuffed it in his mouth, then fell guilty to stealing another piece. He knew this routine well enough by now. When hunger hit, the compulsion to keep eating and eating was sometimes too powerful. If he started small and couldn’t stop himself, then at least he didn’t dent the food too much.

 

With luck, his need to piss overpowered his desire to keep eating, so he was able to escape easily. Adam found the bathroom out back, a good thirty feet away from the house. By now, he was completely unsurprised to find that it wasn’t a toilet. What had Lynch said? It was _impressive?_ It was something all right. Adam left the makeshift bathroom and ventured instead to the edge of the trees. Realistically, peeing into a bush wasn’t any different than squatting over a makeshift hole in the ground, yet somehow it felt less wrong.

 

There was a small well near the bathroom. Adam pulled up some water, first to pour over his hands, then to swish around his mouth, before finally gulping down a cup. He felt bad for drinking straight from the bucket but somehow knew Lynch wouldn’t care.

 

 _Probably part of the rustic charm._ He was grumpy already. This wasn’t good.

 

Adam wandered around the farm looking for Lynch. He saw the chickens first, all of which seemed to have free roam of the land but still congregated around a small chicken coop, and remembering Lynch’s request to “handle” them, Adam took a shot. He found what looked to be food in a wooden trunk and threw a few handfuls. Blue’s family used to have chickens so he wasn’t afraid of them; Adam leaned down to cuff his pants and then ventured toward the coop and looked in. He found a few eggs. Making a pouch out of the too-large shirt, Adam carried them back to the house and left them on the counter.

 

He finally found Lynch in a small barn behind the house. The farmer was laying on a bed of hay, a small towel covering his eyes, his legs propped up at an angle. Adam startled, not expecting to find him asleep, and immediately turned on his heel.

 

“You awake?”

 

Caught. Adam never was a quiet walker. He turned back to Lynch and muttered, “Yeah. I fed the chickens. Eggs are in the house.”

 

Lynch grunted but didn’t move. Adam looked around the barn, searching for the calf that was supposedly sick. There were cows resting in the back corner, but none looked in pain or sick.

 

“Do you know what time it is?” Adam asked.

 

“Early,” Lynch said.

 

“Right. I got that.” Adam fidgeted with his clothes. “Do you know when you can take me to town? I kind of need to get back.”

 

“Town won’t be ready for a few hours,” Lynch said, finally pulling the towel off his eyes and sitting up. He did not look well rested, and yet even the bags underneath couldn’t detract from his pretty blue eyes.

 

“That’s fine. If I can just get to town I can figure my way back to my house.” When Lynch’s lips remained in a frown, Adam quickly added, “I can go myself, too. Or if town is too difficult, I can just go back through the forest. I probably never should have gone through it in the first place--”

 

“The forest?” Lynch asked, voice tense. He pushed himself up and walked closer to Adam, using his height advantage to peer down at Adam in intimidating fashion. “You came out of the forest?”

 

Adam took a step back instinctively. “Yeah…”

 

Lynch tugged Adam by his shirt, pulling him outside the barn, and pointed to the very forest Adam came from. “That one?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Lynch let go of his shirt, fingers falling to his side to twitch. He was staring up at the forest with a dark look before his eyes slid back to Adam. When Adam shrunk back once more, Lynch wiped his nose with the back of his hand and grunted.

 

“I’ll take you back that way, then,” he muttered. “Town is not the right place for you.”

 

“Oh, uh, thanks. What time--”

 

“Now.”

 

Adam’s heart paused in panic. Lynch looked so serious and kept looking at the forest with dark eyes and he didn’t understand the sudden insistence on leaving. Did he do something wrong? Lynch didn’t give him long to wonder. He took off toward the forest, not sparing a look back to see if Adam was even following. Of course, like a puppy, Adam scrambled after.

 

The walk to the forest, and into it, was done in mostly silence. Lynch charged into the brush, seemingly without a path as he didn’t follow a straight line. He looped around trees, paused, closed his eyes, then turned back in a different direction, walked, paused again at random. They’d been walking for at least twenty minutes when Adam finally got the courage to talk.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

Lynch grunted. “The entrance.”

 

“And you’re sure it’s this way? I swear I just walked straight--”

 

“I know what I’m doing,” Lynch said.

 

Adam frowned. His feet were starting to hurt again. His shoes weren’t thick enough to handle the random rocks breaking through the soil, or the roots of the trees that left the ground uneven. He tripped once only to have Lynch instantly grabbing him by the upper arm, pulling him back up.

 

“Woah there,” he muttered.

 

Adam felt his ears burn. He pushed Lynch’s hand away and muttered, “I got it.”

 

The little tilt in Lynch’s mouth hinted that he didn’t believe him. Desperate to take the attention to a different place, Adam said, “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Why even ask that?” Lynch said, stopping again to shut his eyes. After a few seconds he opened them back up and continued straight. “Just ask the questions you want.”

 

“Why do you--” Adam paused. He wanted to ask, _Why do you live this way?_ It felt too rude. He searched for the more polite version. Ultimately he settled with, “What made you decide to not use appliances?”

 

“What are you going on about?”

 

“Just, like, I get the fire instead of a stove. The bed is...interesting. But the bathroom?”

 

“Here you go again,” Lynch muttered. “I don’t know your fancy Brit slang. Again?”

 

“The bathroom. The _washroom._ ” He couldn’t help but imitate Lynch’s accent when he said it. The man did not appreciate it, clearly, because he shot Adam a dirty look. “You didn’t want a toilet?”

 

“Are you complaining about my washroom? Are you daft? It’s fucking amazing, made it myself! When it’s full, I plant a tree and move it somewhere else. Grows the best trees, with the best berries! You tried ‘em, you know.”

 

“God, gross.”

 

“Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain,” Lynch snapped, shoving Adam by the shoulder. “You prefer a simple hole in the ground?”

 

“I prefer a _toilet_ ,” Adam repeated.

 

“Whatever _that_ is.”

 

“It’s a toilet! Everybody has a toilet!”

 

Lynch snorted. “Maybe where you live. With your fancy boots and your fancy trousers.”  

 

It was this moment that finally made Adam realize there was something fundamentally different about Lynch. About his farm. About this… place. Later, Blue teased him for it. (“Out of _everything_ it was the toilet? Really, Adam!”) He maintained it was fair. No one would ever be able to understand how absurd the situation was as a whole, how unbelievably insane it would have been to jump to the conclusion of time travel, but there had to be a breaking point eventually. Something that pushed Adam over the edge of _odd_ to _wrong._

 

Turns out it was the lack of toilets.

 

Adam’s feet took him further into the forest but he no longer felt the pain. His mind was spinning, reliving every moment from the past 24 hours.

 

His rational brain tried to rationalize it.

 

He refused to form it into thoughts. Instead, it was a steady stream of excuses. Reasons why it couldn’t possibly be _that--_ there was _no way_ \-- maybe it was all a dream-- maybe-- maybe--

 

“We’re here.”

 

Adam stared forward. They were at the edge of the forest and yet he couldn’t see past it. It was as if it were day within the forest, night outside it. The wall of black was not comforting and he did not feel like going back.

 

Lynch nudged him in the back. “On with ya.”

 

Adam looked back at Lynch. The man wasn’t looking at him anymore, his eyes trained at the edge of the woods. He looked uneasy, and Adam was glad to see he wasn’t alone in his discomfort.

 

“Thank you for…housing me,” Adam muttered.

 

“You’re welcome back if you ever need,” the man said. Adam felt he was simply engaging nicetities, until Lynch added, “So long as you work on your kindling skills. It’s too disgraceful.”

 

Adam’s laugh escaped him, and he was mortified to hear it echo back it him, almost as a giggle. _A giggle._

 

Motivated by embarrassment, Adam jerked his hand in a quick wave and scuttled through the woods. It wasn’t until he passed the edge did he think, _What if I’m not back in my time?_ It was the first time he had thought it out loud. When he realized what he’d done, he stopped, heart pounding, but it was too late. He had crossed the threshold, he was back.

 

It was so obviously home. Gone was the dark clouds, the lush, green grass. It was back to dust, to empty roads that felt achingly busy.

 

Adam hadn’t realized how much he hated Henrietta until he was back. He turned to face the forest once more, looking into it. From this side he couldn’t see Lynch. Adam wasn’t sure what that meant. Had Lynch simply turned back immediately? Or by crossing the threshold was he gone from time?

 

Adam’s heart seized. Why had he been so afraid before? He suddenly wanted to know. It was consuming, the sudden list of questions screaming at him. _Was that real? Did he really time travel? How far in the past did he go? What was Lynch’s name? Why did he refuse to tell him?_

 

Before he could second-guess it, Adam darted back into the forest. A branch whipped him in the cheek and it stung, but he’d inspect it later. He needed -- He just had to --

 

There was Lynch, head curved over his shoulder as he looked back at the sudden sound of Adam’s sprint. His eyebrows dipped in confusion.

 

Adam said the first thing on his mind.

 

“What’s the date? The year. Specifically. What year is it?”

 

“Not sure the day. About 1835, ‘suppose.” Lynch did not seem fazed by the question.

 

Adam grinned, delirious. “Okay. 1835. Ireland. Right?”

 

Lynch sucked in a deep breath through his nose, slow and pointed. “Go home, kid.”

 

Adam did as he was asked.

 

* * *

 

Time seemed to have passed in Henrietta while he was in the past. Adam sat on the edge of the road for an hour before a car finally pulled off and they allowed him to use their phone. He called Blue, told her where he was, and waited for her to arrive with his back to the forest. He found he couldn’t look at it.

 

When she got there, Blue reached out and touched his cheek. “What happened?”

 

 _So much,_ Adam thought. When Blue held up her fingers to him, showing him blood, he thought, _Who cares about that?_

 

Later that night, when he sat on Blue’s bed and ran his finger along the bones in her feet, he thought about telling her what he discovered. Not just about the time travel, but the confusing thoughts he had about Lynch. He found both secrets were too worrisome to share. He didn’t want her to laugh at him, call him crazy, if he dared utter the words _time travel._ Their relationship was still too new and tentative to dare admit the other secret.

 

He would eventually, far after they’d broken up. Instead, that night, Adam forced himself to focus on the curve of her calf muscle and the smell of her makeshift perfume: dots of almond extract she’d place on her wrists from when she and Persephone made pies.  

 

And, over the next five years, he tried to convince himself it wasn’t real. Told himself it was a bad dream. When that didn’t work, he told himself it was a fluke. That it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that he’d eventually look back on with fond tenderness. The type of experience that you remembered during perfectly quiet moments of your life that were designed for nostalgia.

 

Until the forest called him back.

 

To Ronan.


	2. London At Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention last chapter: this story takes place over multiple years, but also over multiple locations. Obviously I'm not an expert in any dialect other than my native tongue, which means I will probably make mistakes at multiple points. If you notice any glaring errors I definitely welcome suggestions! But if possible, please avoid just telling me it's completely wrong or doesn't sound right without further comment, because truthfully it makes me really bummed. I did my best to research this story, including proper historical elements and time-period-appropriate phrasing, but I'm human and will make mistakes. So if you can be kind, I do appreciate it! (Also, please remember I'm not getting paid for this.)

_One month into dating, Blue poked her toes into the side of Adam’s thigh and asked, “Do you believe in fate?”_

 

_Adam was re-reading Antigone - they had a quiz in English Lit the next day - so he barely heard her at first. He liked Blue, a lot, and it was incredibly tempting to stare at her lilac lips instead of the pages, but his schedule didn’t leave much room for flirting that day._

 

_She pinched him with her toes and sang, “A-dam.”_

 

_“Sorry, I was just trying to finish the passage. You said something about fate? Is that a theme in this or something?”_

 

_“I’m not talking about the book, Adam,” Blue laughed. She grabbed the book from his hands and tossed it aside. “Just, like, in general. Do you think the universe has a grand plan for us all? Do you think it was destiny that we met and et cetera?”_

 

_“No,” Adam said simply._

 

_Blue frowned. “How romantic.”_

 

 _“How is fate romantic?” Adam countered. “It means you don’t get a choice in anything. Isn’t it more romantic to look at someone and think,_ ‘Hey, I choose them?’ _then to let the universe just deal you a card?_ ”

 

_Blue shrugged. “I don’t know. I like to think there’s a bigger plan for us all. People we are destined to meet, places we have to go.”_

 

_She began to pick at her nail polish, avoiding his gaze. Adam swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He had the distinct feeling that he fucked up. Why couldn’t he have just lied and said it was totally fate that they met?_

 

_“Why do you ask?” Adam asked tentatively._

 

_Blue smiled at him. “Just something I’ve been thinking about. Are you hungry? My aunt made pie.”_

 

* * *

 

Adam’s hands clenched at the steering wheel of his old high school car. He did not want to be in Henrietta. The town made him feel ill. He could never again run his fingers across a dusty desk without cringing, or feel comforted by the smell of rain on weeks dry pavement. Adam had spent the past three years making New Haven his new home, yet one call - one shitty, warbling call from his grandmother - brought him back.

 

_Your father died._

 

Adam had wasted too many hours thinking about his father’s death. Most times he thought about whether it would be an accident or if his drinking would finally catch up with him. On dark days, he allowed himself the wicked fantasy of doing it himself, but only for a few minutes. He was not his father, he was not someone who would willingly hurt another. It was more that the idea of his father no longer being a threat was so relieving that he got carried away. The thought that one day he might not compulsively check every room for his father’s face.

 

Except now, even having seen Robert Parrish’s tombstone for himself, Adam couldn’t break the habit. At the wake he was on edge. Every touch to his back made him jump, expecting to find his father looming behind him, with his wicked dark eyes and flexing fingers. The room was too loud. Too many people sharing stories about Robert Parrish. Good stories. _Funny_ stories. Stories that made Adam wonder if his father wasn’t always awful, or if he saved his brutality for him, or if everyone secretly knew but no one could admit the truth at such an event.

 

Adam would press one finger discretely to his hearing ear in a desperate attempt to tune their words out, but the silence came with its own cost: the memory of fist to face, then face to ground.

 

He had to get out. He had to leave.

 

But he knew what would happen if he did. An endless stream of guilt trips from his relatives who didn’t know his past. People shaming him for _abandoning his mother in such a difficult time,_ not knowing she abandoned him first.

 

Adam knew he shouldn’t care what they thought. He _definitely_ didn’t need to care about his mother, and yet.

 

He slammed his foot on the brake, grateful to be on a stretch of abandoned highway. Adam leaned his forehead on the steering wheel and gasped for breath. This was so stupid. He was better than this - he could handle being around his family. He was Adam Parrish: he’d survived years of abuse, worked three jobs at one time, gotten a near full-ride to Yale.

 

It didn’t calm the panic one bit.

 

When Adam caught his breath he pulled out his phone. Texted Blue. Tried to be casual about it. As if there were anything casual about Adam suddenly being back in Henrietta after three years. Adam thought he could survive staying in the trailer for a few days and now he felt like a fool. Three years was not enough time to move past his past, not enough time to forgive his mother.

 

Still…staying with Blue was stressful in its own way.

 

They had broken up over two years ago - right around the end of Adam’s freshman year at college - and his attraction to her had faded to a wistful ache. The problem with Blue was _how_ they broke up.

 

It was not an interesting story. It was two people who might have worked out if they had gotten together when they were older. It was Adam, trying to love someone while having no idea what love looked like. It was Blue, too young to know how to help him, thinking the best way to fix his anxieties was to do everything for him. It was Adam not knowing how to use his words and it was Blue not knowing how to calm her temper when words wouldn’t work.

 

It was two people, one wounded and not ready to be in a relationship. It was one of them finally realizing this, being miles away and having to voice her concerns over a shitty Skype connection, while the other shut down and gave up.

 

They didn’t talk for awhile.

 

They talked now, but it wasn’t quite the same.

 

Adam didn’t want to admit that part of his hesitancy to contact Blue was the fact that she had a new boyfriend. Before, he got through awkward conversations with the tiny hope that, just maybe, they could try things again when he had healed and got his shit together. Then, about six months ago, Blue told him she’d been seeing a DC boy she met while traveling in Peru. Adam pretended he couldn’t remember his name but it was burned into his memory. It was too fanciful and yuppy to ever forget.

 

Ping! Blue had texted back: _Adam Parrish, Yale is giving you a bad sense of humor. That’s not a funny joke!_

 

 _Not a joke,_ he wrote back. _I’m in Henrietta. Are you around?_

 

She didn’t respond as fast this time. He started the car back up again and drove in the direction of her house, praying he’d get a message any second now saying he could come over. He rolled down the window and let his hand drift into the open air, enjoying the feel of Virginia’s summer heart on his fingers. His phone beeped a few seconds later and, seeing that the road was clear, Adam dared to peek at her response.

 

_Holy shit! Yeah, I’m at my Mom’s. Gansey is here - you could finally meet him!_

 

Adam stuffed the phone into his back pocket, huffing a breath of air through his nose. Of course. He weighed his options - would it be worth staying with Blue, away from his family, if he had to meet her boyfriend? Maybe it would be good for him. He might finally, officially move on from Blue.

 

Before that thought could form into an official decision, Adam’s eyes caught on something to his right.

 

It was the forest. _The_ forest.

 

He slowed the car instinctively, as if to match his heart. He had thought about this forest often, had even ventured to its edges a few times before he left for college, but he didn’t remember it being in this part of town. And yet there it was, the same shocking shade of green, the same shadows, calling out to Adam.

 

He parked his car on the side of the road and stared at it.

 

He wouldn’t.

 

Adam’s fingers wrapped around the keys, cold to the touch, and turned the car off. He left the keys in the car as incentive to come back. Adam walked across the field, fully intending to just stand at the edge of the forest. Check if it was still as dark as he remembered, then turn back.

 

It was.

 

Still, something about the forest was calming to Adam. The dark should have been intimidating, but instead he felt his feet moving toward it, toeing the edge with his sneaker. Adam bit the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would bring him to his senses. He tried to ignore the voice calling out to him, as if saying, _Adam, Adam, Adam,_ because he knew sirens never led to actual treasures. He would _not_ go into the forest again.  

 

Adam thought of Lynch for the first time in years. It was hard to picture him, the memory fading after 5 years. He wondered how he was.

 

Adam went into the forest again.

 

It was like a spell. Halfway through the forest he remembered his keys and thought to go back, but just as he was about to be convinced, he saw light through the trees ahead. He followed it, fingers reaching out for the rough trunks for support, until at last he was out.

 

It was dark here. And cold. Very cold.

 

“Shit.” The word popped out of his mouth but there was no one to hear him.

 

This wasn’t Lynch’s farm, that much was clear. He wasn’t even sure this was _Ireland_ anymore, without the grey skies and green fields to mark his way. A quick glance around confirmed it was definitely not Henrietta, though.

 

He was at the edge of a city kept dark by a lack of street lamps. There were a few houses with candles lit in the windows, however, and Adam walked toward them, the hairs on his arms practically screaming for the flickering heat. The wise response would have been to turn around, but his curiosity overpowered any of his rational decisions. He wanted to know where and when in time he was.

 

The city was filled with houses packed tight, most all made with brick and lined with ivy. The street was uneven in places from dirt not quite pounded flat, and he nearly stepped in a giant pile of horse shit before skipping over it just in time.

  
He had no idea if the darkness meant it was five o’ clock or midnight. There was no one on the streets, save for a few people milling in the far distance, so Adam pressed on. He hugged his arms to his chest, both needing to keep warm and trying to cover the logo on his shirt to avoid suspicious looks. Adam wanted to ask a stranger what year it was but he needed to be careful. At sixteen, he was too confused to realize that he could easily put himself in danger by drawing unnecessary attention to himself; at 21, Adam knew better.

 

As much as he wanted to find out, the cold was becoming too much to bear. He cursed his bad luck and started to head back to the forest. As he looped back he came upon a building that was buzzing with laughter and cheering, and it drifted through the streets, tempting Adam once more. Before he could even peek in the window, though, there was a sudden clash of noise and screaming from within. The creaky wooden door slammed open and a body was thrown out into the street.

 

The flying man caught Adam in the shoulder. Adam spun, managing to balance himself, while the man crashed to the street with a groan.

 

"Ya' drunk! Piss off!"

 

Adam could make out some music in the background, someone running their fingers against the keys of a piano. Someone within the building threw a hat at the man before they slammed the door shut once again.

 

The man was trying to push himself off the ground but failing. He was on all fours, cursing up a storm, when Adam let his guilt get the better of him.

 

"Hey man, you okay?" Adam asked, leaning down to place a hand on his upper arm.

 

"Watch it," the man muttered, brushing Adam's hand away. "I got it, I got it. Not even tha' drunk."

 

The man pushed himself up and stumbled, walking into the wall. He leaned his head against it and brushed a hand over his scalp. He had done a crude job of shaving it short. Even in the dark, Adam could make out a cut running along the man’s scalp from a razor pressed too close. The man was muttering under his breath, talking to the wall.

 

Feeling now was as good of time as any, and hoping the man wouldn’t think it too odd when he was clearly drunk as hell, Adam took a chance and asked, “Hey, uh, you know what year it is?”

 

“Mind your own damn business. I don’t need your help.”

 

“Good thing I didn’t _offer_ any,” Adam muttered. He tapped the man on the shoulder then darted a foot back. “I just asked if you knew the date.”

 

“Do I look like I know what day it is?”

 

“Just the year is fine.”

 

The man crouched to the ground, hugging his knees, and began to sway. He hiccuped once and then cursed loudly, hiccuped again, and finally settling with hissed, “Shut up!”

 

“Alright, fine, Jesus.”

 

Adam was set to leave when the man spun suddenly on his heel, hiccuping once more, and pointed a finger straight in Adam’s face. Whatever he was going to say was quickly forgotten, because the sudden moment toppled the man once more, straight into Adam’s arms. He caught him with a grunt, barely managing to keep them both upright as the man slumped against him, all dead weight.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Adam looked down at the man’s shaved head and waited for a response. When the man said nothing, Adam jostled him in his arms and said, “Hey. Hey! Are you…dead?”

 

“Dead drunk,” the man said, before promptly cackling at his own joke.

 

Adam, decidedly unamused by the joke, moved to set the man down. Hands gripped tightly around Adam’s biceps in protest. Having dealt with many drunk college boys before, Adam was ready to deposit him quickly to the ground, before the man turned his gaze up to Adam. He saw pretty blue eyes.

 

“Mr. Lynch?”

 

This seemed to push the man over the edge. He reared his head back, eyes narrowed, and asked, “Whassit’ to you?” Before Adam could respond, the man shook his head rapidly and slurred, “Lemme’ down now, lemme’ down.”

 

Adam did, just in time for Lynch to cough up what looked to be his dinner and drinks. Not a fan of alcohol period, let alone it coming out of someone, Adam turned away and pinched his nose.

 

_Patience. Patience._

 

When Lynch finished, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and turned back to Adam. Puking did not seem to improve his state. He stumbled back to Adam, wrapping an arm around his neck, and said, “Do I know you?”

 

Adam licked his bottom lip. “Uh, well…”

 

“We’re friends then, aye? Help me home then, Friend.” He pushed his head into the crook of Adam’s neck and laughed sharply.

 

“I don’t--” Adam shut his eyes, reminding himself that Lynch had just puked and there was nothing sexy about the situation. There was no reason for the hairs on his arms to raise just because a man had the audacity to breathe soft, warm air into his skin. “I don’t know where you live.”

 

Lynch lifted a shaking hand up, pointing down the street, and muttered, “Thatta’ way.”

 

Adam snuck a quick look at Lynch. Was it really worth his time to drag Lynch all the way back to his house? (Or, _God_ , what if he still lived on the farm? Was this the town Lynch had mentioned so long ago? He couldn’t drag him for miles.) His hesitancy caused a frown to slip onto Lynch’s lips.  

 

Lynch slid out of Adam’s grasp and started wobbling forward. “Only a few minutes walk. I’ll manage, no-Friend.”

 

When Lynch started to tumble sideways toward the wall, Adam darted forward and grabbed him around the waist. He replaced Lynch’s arm around his shoulder and said, “Fine. Just -- You have to help me find it.”

 

What followed was an awkward and challenging journey to Lynch’s home. Adam wasn’t sure how much time had gone by since they last met - perhaps five years had passed here, just like it had for Adam back in his time - but Lynch didn’t live on the farm anymore. He directed Adam to a skinny house made of red brick, vines climbing up the sides, and opened the door without any fuss. For a moment Adam was panicked that Lynch had let himself into a random house, but when he saw the man head straight for a cupboard to pull out a glass, clearly knowing his way around the house, his worries lessened.

 

Lynch seemed to have forgotten Adam was there. He stood at a sink, turning the handle on a bronze sink and subsequently introducing a loud groan from the pipes in the wall, and drank several glasses of water. When he seemed satisfied, he then stumbled to a small lamp in the corner and tugged at the cord. It barely lit the room, but Adam was shocked to see it all the same.

 

“You have a light,” he said.

 

Lynch’s only response was to grunt. He began to loosen the bowtie at his neck until it hung free, allowing him room to unbutton his shirt. When he pulled it completely from his shoulder, Adam directed his eyesight away, too slow to miss the muscles in his back contracting together.

 

_Not this again._

 

“Do you need anything else?” Adam asked.

 

Lynch sighed, collapsing into a couch. Adam only had a few seconds to examine the couch - to wonder how Lynch went from having straw-filled mattresses to actual cushions - before Lynch waved his hand in the air and said, “Out.”

 

Adam allowed himself to roll his eyes openly. Jesus. He practically carried him the entire way back and all he didn’t even get a “thank you”?” The Lynch he used to know wasn’t exactly a man of words, but this seemed absurd.

 

“Can you just tell me the date?” Adam asked.

 

“Something, something November.”

 

“The _year_ , Mr. Lynch, _the year,_ ” Adam bit.

 

Lynch turned on his side, pulling a ratty mauve pillow over his ears in an attempt to block Adam out. Losing whatever shred of patience he had left, Adam muttered, “Fine.”

 

His hand was on the brass doorknob when Lynch said: “1883.”

 

Adam’s hand slipped from the knob. “What?”

 

“It’s 1883.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Adam countered. He would never forget the year he first traveled back to. 1835, Ireland. He’d researched it extensively when he got back home, had it ingrained in his memory like a bad scar.

 

“Is it ‘84 already? Fuck me, how long have I been drunk?” Lynch laughed again, cold and bitter.

 

Adam walked back to Lynch, cautiously, and peered over the couch to look at him. The man’s eyes were still closed, dark lashes resting against his high cheekbones, and he slid his tongue out to graze his teeth for just a moment.

 

“Where are we?” Adam asked quietly.

 

Lynch groaned. “Let me sleep!”

 

“Is this Ireland?” Adam pressed on. He perched on the edge of the couch, telling himself it had nothing to do with getting a better view of Lynch’s bare stomach. Nothing at all.

 

“ _Fuck_ no. We’re in London town.”

 

Of course. Adam wasn’t fantastic with dialects, but he watched enough movies to recognize that Lynch no longer spoke with an Irish accent. At first, Adam thought it was due to the alcohol - something similar to the slurring words and husky voices that most drunk, frat boys took on around campus.

 

Lynch smacked his lips and wetted them, eyes opening for a moment to grope around for something. Adam hopped off the couch and filled his glass once more, pressing it to Lynch’s shaking hands. The water dimmed his temper, because Lynch added, “Nothin’ against Ireland. It’s my native land and all. God help her.”

 

“So you’re _from_ Ireland?” Adam confirmed.

 

Lynch twisted onto his side again, burying his face in the cushion of the couch. “I need to sleep. Bugger off now.”

 

“Huh.” Adam took the empty cup from Lynch’s hands and took a sip himself. “Mr. Lynch, do you have family--”

 

Lynch turned his face away from the couch, eyes shut again, and exhaled slowly. In a sleep haze, he mumbled, “Ronan.”

 

“What?”

 

“Mr. Lynch is my father,” he muttered, though the very corners of his mouth quirked toward his ears. Not even sleep could keep him from cracking a pathetic joke, apparently. “It’s Ronan.”

 

Knowing he was near sleep, Adam tested the name, slowly sounding it out to the room. “Ronan. Ronan Lynch.”

 

He got one last hum from Ronan before the man stuttered a deep breath, something close to a snore, and became dead to the world. Adam took advantage of his sleep to really inspect him. Ronan looked _so_ much like the Lynch of his past, a trim beard replacing the missing dark curls, but he believed Ronan when he said it had been about 50 years.

 

If he had any doubts, a quick look around the house proved it enough. Electricity - dim as it was, running water, and - _yes,_ thank God - there was an actual toilet.

 

After exploring for a few minutes, Adam found what looked to be Ronan’s bedroom. He felt a sudden, giddy rush to realize that he could snoop around all he liked. Even _if_ Ronan woke from his drunken stupor, what would it matter? Adam could simply walk out the door and back through the forest, no harm, no foul.

 

There was a nightstand by the bed, with another dim light left on from earlier, that Adam looked through carefully. It was empty, save for a bible with the cover hanging loose and an empty bottle of some sort of pungent liquor. Adam looked through a dresser instead, thumbing through Ronan’s clothes with interest. The material was much softer than before - either improvements had been made over the past 50 years, or Ronan was wealthier than… well, whoever Mr. Lynch was - and it reminded him of the Jane Austen movies Blue used to watch.

 

He looked down at his own clothes. College had allowed Adam to be kinder to himself with some luxuries, like a cell phone, but he still bought his clothes second-hand. Compared to Ronan, his clothes looked wild.

 

Adam eyed the clothes again.

 

When Ronan woke up, sober, what would he think of Adam’s clothes? He had to be more careful this time. He was lucky that last time his ignorant flaunting of his time travel went relatively unnoticed. If he wanted to go under the radar--

 

Wait. _Go under the radar?_ He was being stupid. Adam didn’t know why he was even considering this; he had to go back to his own time.

 

Adam walked back to the living room, determined to leave. He caught the figure of Ronan on the couch before he could make it to the door. He’d turned back to the couch now, arm thrown up to cover his face, and Adam found himself staring at the sharp curve that led from Ronan’s shoulder, down to his thin waist, and back up against his hip.

 

Adam bit his cheek.

 

He would _not_ stay just because Ronan was ridiculously hot. He knew literally _nothing_ about the guy! Any affection he had for him was sentimental at best, and for a person that _wasn’t even him._ It wasn’t like Ronan’s dad or grandpa or whoever it was that Adam met was anyone spectacular either. He was just some guy that, you know, happened to awaken some intense, sexual curiosity on Adam’s part.

 

Still, Adam looked at Ronan. Fixated on that curve and pinched the skin on his own thigh.

 

He thought about leaving. Adam could probably find his way back to the forest, back to his car which - fuck, the keys were still in it - _hopefully_ walk back to a car that wasn’t stolen. And then what? Go to Blue’s, meet her pretentious boyfriend, be subject to guilt and stress and a terrible sickness in the lower pit of his stomach that never seemed to go away whenever he thought of his family.

 

Or he could just… stay here, in 1883 London, England, and avoid life’s responsibilities for a bit.

 

If Ronan even _let_ him stay.

 

He could figure that out tomorrow, when Ronan was sober. In the meantime, if he really planned to stay, he had to prepare. Adam crept back toward Ronan’s room, watching his chest rise and fall three times before he darted through the door, and dug through the dresser until he reached the bottom. He found a shirt and a pair of slacks and took them out, fingers shaking.

 

He was really going to do this. Jesus.

 

WIth one last peek over his shoulder to make sure Ronan was still sleeping, Adam pulled off his own shirt. He grabbed Ronan’s extra shirt - pleased to see that, this time, borrowing a shirt didn’t mean drowning in extra fabric - and buttoned it up. Next he shed his jeans, folding them carefully with his discarded Coca Cola t-shirt, and tucked both underneath Ronan’s bed. Then, upon remembering his phone, he pulled it out and turned it off. He couldn’t receive calls, but it was still a working camera.

 

The pants he borrowed were a bit too large, but they fit enough to lay low on his hips. The large size meant large pockets on the bright side, which he slipped his phone into with ease.

 

He then sat on the edge of Ronan’s bed, placed his hands on his knees, and exhaled deeply.

 

Now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you confused yet? Don't worry, you'll figure out eventually. ;) 
> 
> I plan to do updates every Monday and Friday! See you in a few days!


	3. London in the Day

_ “How did you meet?” _

 

_ His roommate touched the photo, two fingers dragging down its edges.  _

 

_ Blue’s face was tacked to his bulletin board, one of the only personal possessions in his dorm room. In it she frowned at the camera, eyes focused above the heart-shaped sunglasses that had slipped down her nose. When Adam looked at the picture he could almost pretend he was still on the other side. _

 

_ So how did they meet? _

 

_ A classic meet cute. The waitress so pretty that he dumped his water cup over the table when she placed her fingers on his shoulder. The smallest daisy delivered to her hand in apology a few days later.  _

 

_ Even after they broke up, people kept asking him about her. She was the only person decorated on his walls and people wanted to know more about Adam. It made sense. _

 

_ For too long, he still said, “My girlfriend.” _

 

_ But that was in the past.  _

 

_ Adam couldn’t let go of the past.  _

 

* * *

 

Adam woke to the sound of cupboards slamming and Ronan muttering under his breath. He had fallen asleep on Ronan’s bed sometime during the night, after hours of thinking,  _ What the hell am I doing? _ When the footsteps came closer to the room, Adam scrambled up. Then, feeling like this position probably seemed even more awkward, he sat back on the edge of the bed and folded his hands together.

 

Oh God. There was no way to do this.

 

When Ronan found him in his room, the glass he was holding slipped from his hand and clattered on the ground. Adam could feel water hit his pants leg. 

 

“Uh, morning.” When Ronan didn’t respond, Adam jerked his hand up in a wave. 

 

Ronan’s eyes skittered down Adam’s body, then to the bed, before he said,  _ “Fuck.  _ Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck!” _

 

Adam jumped up to retrieve the fallen cup. He had thought of an excuse, a reason why he should still be there in the morning, but when he’d rehearsed this speech it’d always been delivered to a calm and collected person. Not a man with wild eyes and heavy breaths. 

 

“Sorry, I didn’t know if I should leave. You seemed pretty wasted -- uhh, I mean drunk. And I’ve seen guys wake up to some pretty...well. I was just going to wait.” Adam held out the cup to Ronan. “Here.”

 

Ronan ignored him, pushing Adam away so that he could get to the nightstand. He pulled out the bottle of liquor and pulled the cork off, taking a deep swig. Ronan barely held the liquid down, his body lurching forward in a gag, but he swallowed it down with a pained expression. 

 

“Little early, don’t you think?” Adam asked, using the tone that Blue used to call _ insufferably condescending _ . It was a habit to still feel guilty for using it and yet it appeared all the same.

 

Ronan’s tone was less passive, more aggression. “Did anyone see us? Or  _ you? _ Last night?”

 

“What? I don’t know, maybe.” At his response, Ronan slammed his fist into the wall. Adam jumped back, tripping over the edge of the bed, and yelled, “Jesus! What the hell?”

 

Ronan walked to the window and pulled the curtain to the side, looking outside. “Shut up. And get the hell out of my house.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Adam gripped onto the edge of the bed, suddenly uneasy. This was not going well. Which was fine, of course. He could just go home and nothing would be worse for wear, but this wasn’t what he  _ planned _ or, fuck. Not what he  _ wanted. _

 

“Did I not…” Ronan muttered a string of curses under his breath and went back to the kitchen. A few seconds later her returned, pried open Adam’s balled fists, and placed a few coins in it. “There. You happy? Now get the fuck out.”

 

Adam stared at the foreign money. “Wait. Is this a tip or something for getting you home? Are you serious? I’m not a bellhop who deserves a little something for carrying your bags up the stairs.”

 

Ronan was back to the bottle of alcohol. Before he could take another drink, Adam pocketed the coins so that he could steal the bottle back from him - ignoring Ronan’s filthy curse - and said, “Come on. This is what got you here in the first place. You’re being a dick, and hate to break it to you, but you were lucky I even helped you out last night at all. Don’t push your luck.”

 

Ronan’s lips curled into a wicked smile. He stepped closer to Adam, pressing his chest to him in what he imagined was meant to be a show of bravado, but managing nothing except to fluster Adam. 

 

Ronan bit, “Is that what you call this?  _ Helping me out? _ ”

 

“What  _ else _ would you call it?” Adam countered. He was really starting to regret ever staying here. Ronan was  _ not _ Lynch; he was chasing a thrill that wasn’t real. “Believe it or not, I didn’t help you back to your place because I thought you’d give me a little money. I just saw a guy drunk off his ass and didn’t want to leave him alone to puke his guts out in the street! Jesus.  _ You _ were the one who asked me to take you home, you know.”

 

Ronan took a sudden step back. “Don’t you fucking say it out loud--”

 

Adam threw his hands in the air. He desperately wanted to grab his things from under Ronan’s bed and leave, but based on the man’s temper, he didn’t want Ronan to think he was stealing from him. (Nor did he want to explain what  _ Coca Cola _ was if he had to prove they were his things.) 

 

“Fine. Next time you’re drunk, find your own way home, instead of forcing some stranger to carry you back and keep you hydrated.”

 

_ Finally, _ Ronan seemed to come to his senses. The glare slipped from his face, his hands unclenched, and he leaned back against the wall. After sucking a deep breath through his nose, he asked, “That’s all?”

 

_ “Yeah?  _ Do you not remember?”

 

Ronan reached for the bottle of alcohol, taking it from Adam’s hands, and twisted the neck of it in his palm. “No.”

 

“Oh.” Adam scratched the hairs on the back of his neck. “Well, yeah. I helped you home and then you passed out on the couch. It was late and I thought it would be okay to just crash here for a bit.”

 

Ronan shut his eyes and exhaled a shuddered breath. This time, Adam didn’t have the heart to stop him from taking another swig. Ronan’s posture - shoulders tense, hands shaking - made Adam feel as if he missed something important in this exchange. Something that probably explained why Ronan seemed intent to greet his morning with a way to forget the night. 

 

“What’s your name?” Ronan finally asked.

 

Adam sucked his lips into his mouth.  _ Oh _ . Part of Adam still couldn’t get past  _ just how much _ Ronan looked like the Lynch from so long ago. He’d given his name back then, and giving it again seemed like another test. 

 

So he gave the universe one more chance. One more explanation. 

 

“Adam Parrish.”

 

Ronan didn’t react, except to open his eyes and ask, “And why are you still in my house, Adam Parrish?”

 

Oh. Right.  _ That. _ Adam had been thinking up an excuse all night, trying to picture what Ronan would accept best. In the end, he could only hope that Ronan was as hospitable as Mr. Lynch was all those years ago.

 

“I, uh, I was just taking a small vacation. Wanted to see London. But when I got off the…  _ boat… _ ” here, Adam paused, waiting to see if Ronan found this strange. He knew London was near the water in his time, but he had no idea whether Ronan’s description of being in London meant they were actually  _ in _ the city, or if he used it like the way Adam told his friends from college that he was from D.C. 

 

When Ronan simply blinked back at him, pale blue irises hidden beneath a hooded glare, Adam added, “...and I got mugged.”

 

“Mugged?” At this, Ronan stood straight and peered over Adam’s body. “Doesn’t look like you put up much of a fight.”

 

“I didn’t.” When Ronan scoffed at this, Adam shrugged and said, “I don’t know how to fight. Thought it was easier to just give him my money. Anyway, my boat doesn’t come back for a bit and I’ve got no money.”

 

Ronan gripped the handle of the liquor bottle. “Nice one, mate.”

 

“Well, I was just thinking--”

 

“Thinking  _ what? _ That you’d help a drunk guy home once and he’d let you stay in his house for free? Not my problem your holiday went all to pot.” With that, Ronan walked out of the room.

 

Well, hell. This wasn’t what Adam was hoping for. If Adam wanted to stay in the past for the week he certainly needed a place to stay, and he’d been banking on Ronan being hospitable. He followed Ronan out of the room, locating him after a minute in the bathroom. He was standing in front of a mirror, twisting his neck to the side so that he could see one of the cuts on his scalp.

 

“If you let me stay I could help around the house.”

 

“Doing what?” Ronan took a bar of soap and began to lather it in his hands. He spread the soap over his cheeks and down his neck, before pressing a crude razor to it. “Not much to do ‘round here except cook and clean, and I’ve been doing just fine without a wife this whole time.”

 

God. This was annoying. Adam was almost willing to trade in the toilet to be back on Lynch’s farm where there were never ending chores to do. Unable to think of a good response, he watched Ronan methodically shave for a few minutes, equal parts fascinated by the shabby razor and worried it would end in disaster. Ronan’s face remained unblemished, but when he began to wet his scalp, Adam darted forward and pulled his arm back.

 

Ronan jerked away. “What are you doing?”

 

“Based on your track record, that’s  _ not _ a good idea.”

 

“Would you leave already? You’re overstaying your welcome.” When Adam didn’t move, Ronan shoved him out of the room and slammed the door shut. From behind it, he called, “You better be gone by the time I’m done!”

 

“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?” Adam called through the door. 

 

He heard mock sobbing through the door. “Oh no! A complete stranger thinks I’m a git. Whatever will I do?”

 

He wanted to yell back  _ I’m not a stranger  _ but it died on his lips _. _ Who was he kidding? The thrill of being in the past, of seeing Lynch again, was rotting Adam’s brain. Of  _ course _ they were strangers. He knew nothing of this man except for his piss-poor temper and affinity for liquor, while Ronan probably thought of him as a clingy, awkward boy who wouldn’t leave his house.

 

Adam’s cheeks burned. He needed to get out of the house, quick, before he made a bigger fool of himself. He let Ronan’s door slam behind him, figuring the least he could do was give a clear signal that he had left. Stomach twisting in shame, Adam forced himself to take in the city around him to take his mind off the disaster that just played out.

 

Thankfully, London in the morning was far more entertaining than at night. There were people milling throughout the street - women in plaid dresses that lifted high in the back, men with high-buttoned collars and elaborately carved walking sticks that seemed to serve no purpose. And hats. There were gaudy hats everywhere: on men, women, even  _ children. _ Top hats, bowler hats, hats with feathers dyed bright pink. Adam found them horrifying and yet he tucked his hair behind his ears all the same, brought his hands to his empty neck and buttoned his shirt to the top.

  
The smell of London, however, was worse in the morning, probably due to the streets being filled with carriages led by horses content to shit wherever they pleased, or men who dipped into alleys with hands on their trousers. The grey sky betrayed what Adam knew to be an incoming shower, yet he didn’t mind. It would clean up the streets, at least.

 

He spared one more glance at Ronan’s building before taking off in the opposite direction. First, he had to find the forest again. He’d tried to pay attention to his surroundings while carrying a drunk Ronan through town, and after about an hour of walking around, he found the edge of the forest. Good. Even  _ if _ Ronan had welcomed him, Adam had no intention of getting lost in the past. 

 

Checking to see that no one was looking, Adam took out his phone and turned it on. He snapped a few pictures of the buildings surrounding it, part for the memory, but mainly to mark where it was. 

  
He wanted to explore.

 

Ronan’s rejection hadn’t stopped that urge, and Adam would be damned before he let it. He was in the past. In  _ London _ . He didn’t need a snippy tour guide; Adam could explore the streets all his own. Plus… Adam reached into his pockets and pulled out the coins Ronan had given him earlier. He’d intended to return them, but due to Ronan’s outburst, it slipped his mind. It wasn’t like he could return the money now, so he might as well use it. 

 

If only he knew  _ how _ much money it was. He’d have to figure out some way to ask around without betraying his ignorance, or getting taken advantage of. 

 

After walking around for a bit with no plan come to mind, Adam’s empty stomach left him desperate. He followed the scent of freshly baked bread to find a small bakery, the window of the shop filled with baguettes and croissants and rolls. He decided to wing it, hoping that acting confident would deter any issues.

 

Adam took a few coins and placed them on the counter. The woman - dressed considerably less ornate than the women he’d seen milling around earlier, in a simple tan dress and grease-stained apron - slid the coins along the counter and put them in her pocket. “Well?”

 

“Surprise me,” Adam said.

 

She rolled her eyes, clearly unamused, but walked to the back and grabbed a few rolls. Adam forced himself to ignore the fact that she grabbed them with her bare hands, reminded himself that one’s immune system grew stronger when introduced to germs. He took the rolls from her and prepared to be on his way when a familiar voice behind him grunted.

 

“What’s in the rolls, Miriam? For that price, they better be stuffed with imported Parisian cheese or shit.”

 

Adam’s back went rigid, muscles contracting painfully, and he bit the inside of his cheek to suppress the curse. Of course. Peeking over his shoulder, Adam met the eyes of Ronan Lynch once more. He’d changed since the morning, thankfully not into a heinous hat like the other Londoners, and was wearing a delightful tweed vest over a buttoned down white shirt. Tied around his neck was what appeared to be a knotted, blue scarf.

 

“Mind your own business,” the woman snapped.

 

“He  _ is _ my business. Give us something proper. Ham. Plenty of it!” When she didn’t move, Ronan slapped his hand on the counter and said, “Miriam, I swear--”

 

“What? Going to tell your mummy about me?”

 

“No,” Ronan’s lips curled into a snarl. “But I bet my brother would be interested to know that your business is taking advantage of the tourists. Have you not heard that ole’ Declan joined the Metropolitan? Division G.”

 

Miriam remained stoic for only a split second before she went to the back of the shop and returned with a square package wrapped in parchment paper. Ronan snapped it from her grasp with a cheeky smile and said, “Lookit’ that. Wrapped it all nice for us. Thanks, Miriam. Always a pleasure!”

 

“Fuck off!”

 

Ronan tugged Adam out of the shop before Miriam’s bad attitude left a permanent mark. Outside, Ronan shoved the package into Adam’s hands and immediately walked off. 

 

“Wait, Ronan--”

 

“Are you an idiot?” Ronan asked, keeping up his brisk walk. “Two rolls for a  _ shilling? _ ”

 

Adam didn’t have a good excuse for his ignorance, yet his pride kept him fighting. “Look, I didn’t--”

 

“You’re one of those rich gents, aren’t you? Probably never bought a roll in your life,” Ronan muttered. 

 

Adam laughed, genuinely so, at the irony of that statement. He spent his entire life controlled by his poverty, felt its crushing blows and power in every choice he ever made. Its shadow haunting him even when he was surrounded by privilege in Yale. Turns out, all he had to do was go to the past to become the wealthy elite he both hated and admired.

 

“You’re one to talk,” Adam countered. “You live on a wealthy street, in a fancy apartment. Plenty of money to toss around to the boy who carried your bags.”

 

“Well, I thought you were--” Ronan stopped in the streets, eyes darting at the passing bodies surrounding them. Whatever he planned to say was left to be secret, because instead he said, “It was a mistake. So give it back and I won’t complain.”

 

Adam blanched. “But I need it.”

 

“Can’t be trusted. You’re just going to waste it!”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Alright then. Say you want to get a pint later. How much you going to hand over?” Ronan asked.

 

“I don’t drink,” Adam said, pleased to not be telling lies for once.

 

“Of course. Then a cat-lap. How much, lad?”

 

Adam didn’t know how to address the nonsense that just came out of Ronan’s mouth. Thankfully, no one could say that Adam didn’t know how to deflect. “Lad? Isn’t that like, a child? I’m twenty-one. You can’t be much older than me, right?” 

 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

 

“You’re avoiding your age,” Adam countered.

 

Ronan plastered his face with an obnoxiously toothy grin that screamed petulance, confirmed by his tone when he said, “Why don’t we both say it at the same time? What a fun game.”

 

“Fine! I don’t know how much a pint or whatever the hell you said would cost. I’m ignorant to it, you’re absolutely right.” As he worked to keep up with Ronan’s brisk pace, Adam tugged his pants up, wishing once again that Ronan and he were closer in size. “That’s why I asked for your help earlier--”

 

“And I said I’m not a fucking charity! Give back the money, or--”

 

“You’ll call your brother, I know, I know.” Adam reached into his pocket and grabbed a few coins out. “You’re a bastard, you know that, right?”

 

Ronan hit his hand underneath Adam’s, causing the coins to jump in the air. He swiped them with his other free hand in one quick motion, examined them briefly, then turned on his heel and said, “A bastard would have taken the ham! At least I gave you a free meal.”

 

Adam watched him walk into the busy streets of London, arms folded at his chest. Once Ronan was out of sight, however, Adam bit his lip to conceal the grin. In his pocket, he dug out a few remaining coins - the shillings, if he remembered correctly. It confirmed his suspicions of Ronan’s wealth: only a rich person wouldn’t keep track of how much money they gave away.

 

He might have felt bad if Ronan wasn’t such a dick.

 

Adam unwrapped his ham and walked in the opposite direction of Ronan, pleased that he had a decent meal, a faint understanding of the currency, and bested Ronan, all in a ten-minute period.

 

* * *

 

 

As the day progressed, however, Adam began to wish he’d found a way to convince Ronan to let him stay. He  _ loved _ London. 

 

He spent the first few hours of his day just walking around, analyzing how the buildings were designed, what technology they’d invented. (And of course, as always, cursing the toilet situation. He knew they existed, as evident from Ronan’s house, but finding one in the city proved impossible. It wasn’t long before he resigned himself to being the loathful creature who had to slip into the alleyway to relieve himself, though thank god he just had to take a piss.)

 

If not studying the buildings, he was equally content just to listen to the conversations around him. There were so many dialects - many of which were harder to understand than Ronan’s - and so many new words. It became a game to him, reminiscent of studying for the SATs when he was in high school, where he’d listen to the conversation and try to figure out what it meant.

 

So when the sun tucked below the hills, Adam tried to punch down his disappointment. There was no way he could stay past the night. It was getting colder and colder, rain already having made an appearance multiple times, and he found that the faces of Londoners became more menacing as the day progressed.

 

He made his way back to the forest, feet dragging, when he got turned around. He retraced his steps, looking for anything familiar, when he recognized the bar where he’d first found Ronan. Knowing it was the best way to get back, he retraced his steps from the bar to Ronan’s house, confident that he could get to the forest from there.

 

Of course the universe wanted to taunt him. When he walked past Ronan’s house the very man in question was sitting on his stoop, dangling a flask in his fingers, eyes tracing Adam’s walk the entire way.

 

“Following me, are you?” Ronan asked, eyebrow quirked. 

 

“No.” His cheeks burned. “I just -- I didn’t know how to get back, so--”

 

Ronan patted the spot next to him on the stairs and jerked his head, a clear signal for Adam to join. He paused a few feet away, wondering why Ronan would suddenly be willing to share space, when the breeze sent a whiff of whisky his way. The scent of strong liquor always made his stomach curl, made him think of bottles crashing on walls and checks bouncing, but Adam’s feet still took him toward Ronan. He sat next to him, a good foot away, and drummed his fingers on his knees.

 

“Why are you  _ really _ here, Parrish?” Ronan twisted the flask in his hands, voice husky, before he turned to look at Adam. “Because you’re not from London.”

 

“I told you, I’m visiting.”

 

“Yank?” 

 

“Something like that.”

 

Ronan hummed under his breath. Despite Adam’s hatred for alcohol, he found he didn’t mind it on Ronan. Unlike his father, it dulled his temper. Put the smallest hint of a smile on him, one that tugged the very tips of his lips up. It lowered his voice, turning it husky and smooth.

 

Adam pinched his thigh.

 

_ Get ahold of yourself. _

 

“And why are you wandering around, all alone, in this city?” Ronan asked. He leaned into Adam, nudging his shoulder into his, and added with a whisper, “And I don’t like liars.”

 

“I’m not a liar,” Adam said hotly.

 

To this, Ronan snorted. He brought the flask to his lips and took another sip before muttering, “You don’t get mugged without coppin’ a mouse.” Perhaps seeing the confusion in Adam’s furrowed eyes, he added. “That pretty face of yours hasn’t seen the fist of a man, and London thugs aren’t known to be nice.”

 

_ Never felt the fist of a man? Maybe not lately, _ Adam thought. He was not interested in sharing, nor dwelling, on his shitty past with Ronan, however. His father was dead. That’s how he got into this mess. If Adam had his way, Ronan would be right: he’d never be touched again, not like that.

 

Still, he was caught in a lie and something about Ronan - maybe his unusually soft eyes, lack of glare, or the ways his hands shook as he held onto the flask - guilted him into saying something real.

 

And what did it hurt? He was going home in a few minutes anyway. 

 

“I guess I kind of… ran away.” Adam linked his fingers together and began to crack his knuckles. 

 

“From?”

 

“My family. Life. Just… shit that’s going on.” Ronan didn’t look away, expression unchanging. Eventually, Adam licked his lip and said, “My dad died. I’m in town for the funeral and I just… I can’t do it.”

 

Ronan jerked his gaze away, to the ground, and clenched his jaw. “It isn’t easy to say goodbye.”

 

“That’s not what-- It’s my family. They don’t understand.” Adam leaned his elbows on his knees, dug his fingers into his scalp, and pulled at his hair. It had the tendency to stick straight in the air when he did this, so thick that Blue used to have fun styling it in various shapes or directions. He tried to think of those moments, Blue’s laughter and soft touches, instead of the image of his father in his casket, dead but somehow still haunting him.

 

Ronan wrapped a few fingers around Adam’s wrists and brought them away from his head. He then ran his hand along Adam’s scalp, smoothing down his hair, muttering, “Fucker.”

 

“What are you doing?” Adam asked.

 

“Helping you look less of a git.”

 

Adam didn’t like the way Ronan’s hands felt on his scalp, or the way he was gazing at him with a look too tender to be friendly, or how he smelled faintly of a burning fire. He didn’t like that Ronan looked so much like Lynch, the stranger who captivated Adam’s attention for the better of his teenage years; the man who kept him up at night, both from guilt and obsession. (He was with Blue then - he wasn’t supposed to think of someone else, especially not the curve of his waist, the blue of his eyes, the muscle in his back, the sound of Adam’s name on his lips.)

 

Lynch was no one to Adam, not really. He was a vivid dream that Adam had lingered on for too long. A man built to unrealistic expectations because Adam was young and impressionable when they met. 

 

And even though, now more than ever, Adam was convinced that Lynch was real, the truth was that Ronan was not Lynch. They might have the same eyes, the same smile, but they were not the same. His body was trying to trick him, to make him think that Ronan had that same power over him.

 

Still, it wasn’t Adam who looked away first, but Ronan. 

 

“How long do you need to hide?”

 

“A week. Then I get to go home.”  _ And never come back. _

 

Ronan thought on this for a moment. He set his flask to the side, stood up, and offered his hand to Adam. After being tugged from the ground, Ronan nodded to his door and said, “A week. That’s it.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

Ronan led him into the house, lighting a lamp so that it was passably brighter, and knocked his knuckles along the couch. “But you’re here. Not me. You got lucky I was so piss drunk last night.”

 

“As opposed to now, where you’re…?”

 

“Pleasantly buzzed, you fucker. I thought you  _ wanted _ to stay here?”

 

Adam held up his hands in defense. “Sorry.”

 

Ronan pulled a blanket from a cupboard and tossed it to Adam. “I’ve got an extra bristle brush somewhere in the water closet. Crème Dentifrice is in a jar. Help yourself.” He then disappeared into his room.

 

Adam didn’t understand a word he said but, afraid that it would betray his secret, he kept silent. Instead, Adam looked around the room, trailing his fingers along a row of dusty books. A few minutes later, Ronan burst out of his room. Adam’s eyes first took in Ronan’s bare chest, specifically the arching of his hip bones that had somehow escaped Adam’s gaze this whole time, before he noticed the annoyed look gracing his features.

 

“Parrish! Clean your teeth and get to bed!”

 

“Huh?”

 

Ronan muttered something nasty under his breath and walked to the bathroom. When Adam failed to follow, the echo of  _ “Parrish!” _ through the house made him scramble over. Ronan was pulling open drawers, searching for something, before finally finding a small jar and a crude looking brush. 

 

_ “Your. Teeth.”  _

 

“Oh… Oh!” Adam took the objects from his hand with widened eyes. “It’s a toothbrush. You have toothbrushes! And, holy shit, toothpaste.”

 

Ronan knitted his eyebrows together, finding Adam’s joy clearly odd, and the look didn’t disappear until Adam forced himself to settle down. He shrugged, knowing that it was too late to remain casual but trying all the same, and said, “Cool. Thanks.”

 

Ronan brushed past him, muttering, “You’re a loon.”

 

Adam watched him over his shoulder, bottom lip sucked under his teeth. He’d have to be more careful if he was going to stay with Ronan for the entire week. He couldn’t be acting surprised at any little thing he didn’t expect to exist in 1883. 

 

As Ronan walked back through his door, he stretched his arms over his head, the muscles in his shoulders flexing. Then, without any warning, he unbuttoned his slacks and dropped them. Adam spun back toward the bathroom mirror just in time.

 

Well.

 

He’d have to be careful about that, too.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are so good to me. Thank you for all the support! Keep those theories coming, I like to see what you think!


	4. London With You

_Blue sat next to Adam at the library, flipping through a graphic novel as he worked on his Yale entrance essay. He’d made almost no progress. Half the time he stared at the screen, glaring at the blinking cursor as if it were personally taunting him, the other half erasing any progress he did make._

 

_When the notification popped up on his screen that his time was almost up, Adam threw the mouse away from him. As she always did, Blue responded to his rage with quiet ferocity. When they were dating, she had a way of making him feel instantly inferior just by setting down her book and staring at him, no obvious expression on her face. He hated that look - hated that it didn’t show anger, didn’t show fear, didn’t show remorse - because it made it too easy for him to fill in the gaps with his own awful words._

 

_Later, when he reflected on their relationship, he realized it would have been so much easier if she had just spit, “I hate it when you’re angry, Adam Parrish.”_

 

_Because it’s not like he didn’t_ know _that. He knew it was the brick pulled from the foundation of their relationship, toppling them when her anger eventually turned to fatigue._

 

_Sometimes, he toyed with the idea that, had 18-year-old-Adam simply apologized for his fury, that would have fixed things, too. That if he had taken Blue’s hand in the library that day, whispered something apologetic and perfect and vulnerable - she could ignore the reasons for his anger. Like he wouldn’t have gone home and hated that he even_ needed _to apologize, when he was the one who should be getting those words._

 

_It didn’t matter. In the end they ignored it, pushed past it, so that it could eventually rot them from the inside out._

 

_Instead, Adam had said, “Maybe I should do this alone.”_

 

_“Maybe you could talk it through with me,” Blue countered._

 

_“No, I-- I need to do this myself. If I get in, it has to be completely me.” The idea of looking back, someday, and wondering whether he actually deserved it was paralyzing. It was harder this way, but nothing worth having came easy._

 

_Blue packed up her things with too much force, the only hint that she was upset, and said, “Fine. My mom needs help with a client anyway. Just -- call me when you’re done, okay?”_

 

_He didn’t call that night, but to be fair, he didn’t finish that essay until a week later. Still, he had gotten a text from Blue that night which read: “You need to take a break, Adam. You can’t take things this serious all the time or you’ll kill yourself.”_

 

* * *

 

 

When Adam imagined hanging out with Ronan for the week, he thought they’d be exploring buildings, going to shows, buying fresh produce from the market. Activities that he saw on travel documentaries he’d been shown in History class back in high school, with a host wearing pants too high in the waist and glasses too large. Most of the students found him embarrassing, which Adam didn’t exactly disagree with, but he was also quaint. He made travel seem easy, attainable.

 

Of course, Adam wasn’t exactly on vacation. He might be in a foreign country, but Ronan made quick work of dashing any dreams of this being a vacation for Adam.

 

On the first day, Ronan woke him up by dropping tufts of bread on Adam’s face and whispering in his ear, “Wakey wakey.” An unfairly short amount of time later, Ronan was tossing Adam a long, wool jacket and shoving him out the door.

 

“Where are we even going?” Adam asked. The sun hadn’t risen and the breeze nipped at his skin, screaming, _It’s too early for this shit._

 

“Work. You’ve got to earn your keep somehow.”

 

Adam didn’t bother dignifying this with words, instead choosing to groan. Adam Parrish was not new to hard work. He couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t have a job that demanded his attention at least six days of the week. Was it too much to ask for _one_ week off, especially considering he traversed through time? Was there no god who thought Adam Parrish deserved a break?

 

Despite his complaining - and did he ever complain, as Ronan liked to point out, thereby completing the complaint circle - he found that work wasn’t so bad when it involved Ronan. It wasn’t just because many of the jobs required they work up a sweat and Ronan, keeping true to his ancestor, had no problem stripping off his shirt when he got too heated. Sure, it was an added perk, but what Adam enjoyed more was simply getting to hang out with Ronan.

 

Despite his disdain for the world, he was… sort of fun to be around.

 

Their second job was a carpentry gig that Ronan had hustled up for himself, apparently. Adam would soon learn that this was standard for Ronan. He never seemed to have one steady job. Some days he helped at a nearby construction site, other days he cleaned chimneys, and on one day late in the week, he took Adam to a farm outside of town and they herded cattle. If it was an odd job, Ronan appeared interested in it.

 

He asked him about it, later that day: why Ronan didn’t want a guaranteed job. The other man had simply shrugged and muttered, “Don’t feel like committing to anything I don’t love.”

 

“You don’t have a dream job?”

 

Ronan looked up from the chair he was assembling, a nail hanging from his lip like one might do with a toothpick in Adam’s time, and let that be his response. Well, that and a glare that could rival Blue when Adam made the mistake of cracking PMS-jokes when they were still together.

 

Practically pouting, Adam went back to sorting his bucket of nails and screws. (The only task Ronan had deemed him fit to do. He even had the nerve to pat Adam on the shoulder and say, voice cheery, “It’s a _very_ important job, Parrish.”) He sighed heavily, tossing a nail into the bucket on the right, sighed again, tossed the screw into the one on the left. After several rounds of this Ronan swore under his breath and said, _“What, Parrish?”_

 

“Don’t you have something more interesting I could do?”

 

“Of course. Whether I _trust_ you with it is another story, however.” Ronan began to sand the seat of his chair. “We don’t need a repeat of yesterday. I still don’t understand how you fucked up mixing concrete.”

 

“You got me up at the asscrack of dawn. I was _tired._ And you had me do it without any help! How was I supposed to know the ratios off the top of my head?”

 

“Rich people. So pathetic.”

 

“I told you. I’m not rich,” Adam insisted.

 

“Classic rich person response.”

 

Adam threw a nail at Ronan. He missed. The second time it hit his arm, which Ronan hardly noticed, so by the time Adam was able to bounce one off his head, he had to hide his grin of success from Ronan.

 

“Stop saying I’m rich. I’m not.”

 

“Only rich people talk like you,” Ronan argued. He rocked back on his heels to perch on the ground. “All your fancy phrases and your posh lil’ accent.” Ronan attempted a poor imitation of Adam’s voice, one far too high, and said, _“I need to take a shower. Toothpaste. Bathroom._ Jesus, ow! Stop throwing shit at me-- _”_

 

_“Water closet_ is a stupid name for a bathroom,” Adam muttered. “And I can’t believe you think _I_ say weird shit. You called me a _gal sneaker._ What does that even mean?”

 

As usual, Ronan didn’t explain his slang. Instead, he turned back to his chair and said, “Well, you’re either rich or you’re smart.”

 

“I go to college,” Adam admitted. When Ronan frowned at him, eyebrows pinched together, Adam added, “University?”

 

“Around here or back home?”

 

“Back at home.” Adam collected the nails he threw at Ronan and sorted them back in the pot. Curse his inability to do any job at half-effort. “I got into the School of Engineering, but I don’t know. I’m second-guessing myself. Physics intrigues me, too, especially since I could double-major in astronomy and only have to take a few more classes. Maybe work for NASA someday. Seems kind of like a pipe-dream, though.”

 

In the least supportive tone he could muster, Ronan said, “Wish I could help, but I don’t give a fuck about school. And, also, I don’t know what the hell you just said.”

 

Explaining NASA seemed like the world’s worst idea, so Adam settled with: “I’m interested in building things. Or fixing things.”

 

“And yet you don’t know how to make concrete? You may want to rethink your career.”

 

“No, not like-- well, I don’t want to _physically_ build things myself, but I want to design _how_ to do it. Create designs for some…I don’t know, some contraption that can clean water from a plant-based membrane.”

 

Objectively, Adam knew that Ronan wouldn’t understand a word he was saying, but he couldn’t help it. Adam didn’t have anyone to talk to about his dreams. He’d learned early on that his pursuits were too grand to share with his family; conversations about space or physics or helping the environment only served to anger his parents. As if Adam’s intelligence was never a sign of his hard work, but rather a malicious desire to shame and belittle his parents. To the Parrish family, Adam wasn’t talented. He was just vindictive.

 

He used to tell Blue, before they broke up. They’d spend hours under the tree in her backyard, whispering what they wanted to do once they were free of Henrietta. But once Adam got a scholarship and she did not, what once was effusive felt more like bragging.

 

So Adam stopped talking about it, except with advisors or professors or classmates. But they had no vested interest in Adam’s past, present, or future. They were checking their boxes, waiting for Adam to finish speaking so that it was their turn to talk. Talking with Ronan didn’t feel that way. It wasn’t as if Ronan seemed particularly interested in his life - in fact, the man hardly asked any questions - but he paid serious attention to anything Adam said.

 

The first day of work Adam had assumed Ronan was tuning him out. He didn’t once look at Adam when he talked, barely responded except to scoff at something Adam said. But at the end of the night, Ronan walked straight to his bookshelf and pulled two books out, muttering about how Adam would probably like them.

 

(He didn’t.)

 

(He _loved_ them.)

 

Adam couldn’t fathom how Ronan would know his interests so quickly until the morning of the next day. Bored, he began rambling about a building they had passed on their way to the construction site. He stopped talking once it became clear that Ronan had nothing to say, not even a quip about Adam’s enthusiasm.

 

When a minute of silence passed Adam looked up to see Ronan staring at him, face frustratingly blank. His skin prickled the more Ronan stared.

 

_“What?”_ Adam had asked.

 

Ronan rolled his eyes at Adam’s tone. “Do you make it a habit to just stop talking in the middle of your stories?”

 

“I just-- I didn’t think--” The sudden realization that he _was_ listening to Adam had made his skin burn, feeling both appreciated and, along with Ronan’s intense gaze, almost… prized. Of course, Adam wasn’t used to such attention and reacted poorly. “Do you make it a habit to never wear clothing?”

 

Ronan looked down at his bare chest, then back at Adam with a lewd expression. (Well, it felt suggestive to Adam. In retrospect, an onlooker probably would call it cocky.)

 

“Well, now that I know it bothers you--”

 

“It doesn’t bother me!”

 

Adam had tried to avoid Ronan’s gaze for the rest of the afternoon, but now here he was again, ranting about engineering and physics and nonsense that was clearly gibberish to the other man, being looked at with a classic Ronan gaze. When Adam squirmed in protest, Ronan finally looked back to his project, but Adam could catch the tail end of a grin.

 

God he was fucked.

 

* * *

 

On the third day they were on the roof of a building cleaning chimneys and Adam couldn’t help feeling a little like Dick Van Dyke. Ronan had complained about Adam’s clothes (in particular, the fact that he didn’t _have_ any, and that he was tired of “looking at his arse” because he “had to wear pants that didn’t goddamn fit”) and, after a quick stop in a store, deposited some trousers, a tweed vest, and an obnoxious newsboy cap on his couch.

 

(“You never stop talking about hats. Figured you’d want one.”)

 

(Adam refused to wear the hat.)

 

(Ronan hid it in his jacket and secured it snug to Adam’s head the minute he complained about the wind.)

 

Though Ronan didn’t respond to many of Adam’s questions, that didn’t stop him from trying. As they walked along the roof of the building, Adam asked, “What do you do for fun?”

 

“Drink.”

 

_“Besides_ drinking.”

 

Ronan stuffed his hands in his pockets and hiked his shoulders to his ears. “I hate this city. Too loud. Too boring. If you don’t like opera or get off on watching horses get abused, there’s not much to do. So I work.”

 

“Why don’t you leave?”

 

“Not that simple.”

 

“Seems simple to me. It’s not like there’s an elaborate system in place that makes it impossible, or at least painstakingly difficult or costly, to move from one country to another.”

 

This spiel earned him another glare from Ronan. “Who would ever do that?”

 

“Who indeed,” Adam hummed. “I’m just saying. If you hate London, you should move.”

 

“Alright. I’ll come back with you then. Back to...wherever you’re from,” Ronan said, turning on his heel to look back at Adam with one eyebrow raised. Adam couldn’t keep the look of horror off his face and Ronan snorted. “That’s what I thought.”

 

“You wouldn’t want to live where I’m from. If you think London’s boring, you’d lose your mind in West Virginia.”

 

“You’d keep me entertained enough.”

 

Adam nearly tripped over a pipe, no longer paying attention to his feet but to the way Ronan’s voice dipped low. That sounded suspiciously like flirting. Ronan’s eyes, flitting quickly over Adam’s body, felt suggestive. Adam suddenly _wanted wanted wanted_. Wanted Ronan’s intense gaze on more than his clothes, wanted his voice closer to his ear, wanted--

 

Ronan cleared his throat and jumped on the ledge of the roof. He sat down, dangling his legs over the edge, and said, “Well, wherever I end up, it won’t be reeling from the loss of a father, that’s for sure.”

 

“I wouldn’t say I’m _reeling,”_ Adam muttered, joining Ronan at the edge. Since their initial discussion Ronan hadn’t asked about his father, but it was inevitable that Robert Parrish made his way into conversation somehow, even if only through Adam’s bitter tone.

  
“Still. People would talk about it. Ask how you’re doing all the time. _Worry_ about you.” Ronan’s fingers shook as he gripped onto the concrete edge.

 

Adam wanted to reach out and place his hand over Ronan’s; to take the shake and warm it against his chest. But that was a bridge he didn’t know Ronan would let him cross, so instead he reached out with his words, voice carefully slow, and said, “You sound like you know what it’s like.”

 

Ronan peered over the ledge, seemingly looking at his feet, before he pointed to a suspended platform below them, long iron ropes holding it up from a crane a few feet away. He held his thumb out toward the platform, squinted one eye, and asked, “How far away is that, you think?”

 

“Ronan, no.”

 

“Ronan, _yes,”_ he countered. “It’s only about two meters down. Easy.”

 

“Oh, yeah. And how far away is the _ground?_ Because if you miss it, or it falls apart because you’re too heavy--”

 

“Rude.”

 

“--and anyway, what is your plan once you’re _on_ it? I’m not helping you back up.”

 

Ronan shrugged. “We have to get back to the ground somehow. This way looks a lot more fun than taking the stairs.”

 

Before Adam could supply Ronan with another logical reason for why he shouldn’t pull the insane stunt, Ronan pushed himself off the edge. His feet hit the platform before Adam could react, but when the whole thing swung side to side, clanging against the brick building, his brain kicked into gear.

 

_“Are you fucking kidding me?”_

 

Ronan looked up at his shout with a grin, one so carefree and wide that it didn’t curb Adam’s beating heart one bit. He hung onto the iron ropes and shook them, yelling up to Adam, “Come on down! I dare you!”

 

Adam refused. He refused again and again, no matter how much Ronan cooed or pleaded or wagged his eyebrows. It wasn’t until Ronan bit, “Fine. Be a chicken!” that Adam’s defenses crumbled.

 

Adam Parrish was very smart in most things. Handling a shot at his pride was not one of those.

 

So, when Adam jumped off the building, Ronan was unprepared. Adam did not land nearly as gracefully as Ronan, likely from the displacement of weight on the rig, and careened forward toward the edge of the platform. Ronan, thank God, pulled him by the back of his shirt to the wall of the building, other arm wrapped around his waist, muttering a string of curses so long that Adam lost track.

 

“You fucking idiot!” Ronan said. “Warn a guy, would you?”

 

Despite what was essentially a near-death experience, Adam found the rush of energy a pleasant buzz to his system. He was laughing from the thrill of it, only stopping when he spied Ronan’s face full of alarm.

 

Knowing Ronan could easily switch from worried to annoyed in seconds, Adam thought distraction to be the best path. “So, how do we get this thing down?”

 

Ronan shut his mouth. He turned away, dropping his hands from Adam, and looked at the rig. “Hell if I know.”

 

He should have known. Thankfully, it only took Adam a few minutes to study the pulley system to figure it out. Before he let go of the brake, he paused to stare at Ronan, asking, “You’re not going to freak out again when this starts going down, right? I don’t want to _alarm_ you--”

 

“Just get us the fuck down, Parrish.”

 

Adam quickly realized that Ronan’s penchant for dares would be better described as a fixation. On their way home that evening, they paused at a shop to get a quick dinner. As they sat outside on the ledge of the display window, Ronan took a bite of his pastry and, though barely intelligible, said, “I dare you to steal that sign.”

 

Adam followed his gaze to another shop across the street. There was a sign right outside it advertising, “Soup of the day: Whisky.”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“Come on. I want to hang it on my wall.”

 

“Then _you_ steal it.”

 

Clearly having no clever argument to counter Adam, Ronan instead brought his hands to his armpits and started squawking like a chicken, flapping his elbows. Adam shut his eyes and tried to focus on his meat pie, but when he could feel Ronan’s breath on his ear, he pushed him away and said, “Fine! Just let me finish my food first.”

 

In the end, Ronan tried to distract the crowds by yelling loudly at the top of his lungs, looking not unlike the boy who Adam had found drunk and stumbling a few days earlier. As casually as possible, Adam picked up the sign, tucked it under his arm, and started to back away from the pub.

 

He was caught about halfway down the block by the owner of the shop. Ronan just yelled, “Run, Adam!” and sprinted after him, cackling like a madman.

 

Once safe and inside Ronan’s house again, Adam threw the sign on the couch and said, “I hate you.”

 

“I can’t believe you just stole their sign,” Ronan said between panting breaths. “That costs them money, you know.”

 

“Oh, fuck you.” Adam pressed his hands into his face. Why on _earth_ did he let Ronan goad him into doing that? He’d never stolen anything in his life.

 

Ronan slung his arm around Adam’s neck and pulled him in close, ruffling his hair with his other hand. “Come on, Parrish, I’m just fucking with you. Don’t feel bad. I’ll just make it a point to get all my drinks from there for the next three months and voila. Problem solved.”

 

Adam shoved him away. “You drink too much as it is.”

 

Ronan’s face soured. Seeing his pleasure drip away so quickly, Adam arched his back straight and squared his shoulders, preparing for a battle. Instead, Ronan’s eyes darted across his face quickly before his lip quirked up at the side.

 

“You’re a sight,” he muttered. “You were supposed to clean the chimneys with the brush, not your body.”

 

To prove it, Ronan stepped close and reached out to run his thumb down Adam’s cheek. Adam’s brain hit pause at the action, unable to focus on anything but the smile tugging at Ronan’s lips and the feel of skin on skin. As if he somehow realized Adam had stopped breathing and wanted to mess with him further, Ronan swept his other fingers under Adam’s chin.

 

Adam opened his mouth to speak - whether to complain or ask for more, he wasn’t sure - but Ronan cleared his throat and pulled his hand back, displaying his thumb for Adam to see. It was dusted in black coal.

 

“See?” He said. His voice was cracked with a breath of air.

 

Adam licked his bottom lip. He still didn’t know what to say, or maybe he had forgotten how to speak.

 

Adam’s silence seemed to anger Ronan. Any trace of a smile disappeared and soon Ronan was brushing past him, knocking himself into Adam’s side, as he walked to the kitchen. “Go take a bath.”

 

From the living room he could hear Ronan opening cupboards slamming things around. Without looking he knew, somehow, that Ronan had poured himself a drink. That something about this encounter had compelled Ronan to reach for liquid courage, as if it could soothe something bubbling inside him.

 

He didn’t think it was from disgust.

 

Adam was a little thrilled.

 

* * *

 

 

The fourth day, Adam found Ronan in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with one hand pressed to his scalp. He was twisting his neck so that he could see himself at different angles, frowning. In his hand was a dull razor, and even Ronan - stupid and impatient and brave - seemed to think it was a bad idea to shave his head.

 

Adam had an idea. A way to repay Ronan for his kindness. He convinced Ronan not to shave his head quite yet and told him he’d be back in an hour before rushing out the door and heading to the forest.

 

Back home his travel bag was still in his car, and in it was a brand new razor that he could easily gift to Ronan. At the rate Ronan shaved his head it wouldn’t last for more than a few months, but it was better than the rusty contraption that left marks over Ronan’s skull.

 

While walking through the forest Adam powered on his cell phone. He had used it extremely sparingly, especially now that Ronan was always around, but still kept it hidden in his pocket. There came a point in the forest, as always, where everything fell completely silent and the temperature dropped. After he crossed it Adam looked at the phone: he had service.

 

And then he had hundreds of notifications. Text messages and missed voice mails.

 

Fuck.

 

The text messages were all from Blue. The most recent messages were extremely crazed, full of worry.

 

_Adam, where the FUCK are you?_

 

_Adam if you see this please respond. I don’t know if you’re lost or hurt or dead and I’m freaking out._

 

_Whoever sees this message, I swear to God, if you’ve hurt him I will hunt you down._

 

He didn’t even want to listen to the voicemails but he found himself lifting the phone to his ear as he pushed away a tree branch. Unlike the text messages, the voice mails came in chronological order, showing Blue’s state of panic grow.

 

_“Hey Adam, it’s Blue. When do you think you’ll be here? Mom wants to know if she should make extra dinner. Let me know, okay?”_   


_“Adam, what the fuck? I thought you were coming over. Is this because Gansey is here? You can’t keep avoiding meeting him, you know. Would you please just call me, or text me, or something?”_

 

The more he listened, the more her anger was replaced with worry. He had to stop listening when her voice, wobbling with obvious tears and choked breaths, said, _“Adam, where are you?”_

 

Fuck. _Fuck._ Why didn’t he think about this?

 

Somehow, he was not surprised to find his car missing when he exited the forest. He could see a cop car in the distance, and from within the forest was the sound of dogs barking. His clenched hand shook around his cell phone. There were people looking for him. No, not people, _the police._ Had Blue reported him missing?

 

He wasn’t allowed to be angry over this, he knew. What was she supposed to do? He said he’d come over, went completely missing in action, and they probably found his abandoned car. He knew what picture that painted.

 

Adam desperately wanted to turn around and head back into the forest. He could just pretend he didn’t see the messages and deal with this later, when the week was up and he had to go back to Yale. But that would mean Blue needlessly worrying for another three days. That meant wasted time and effort of the police and anyone else searching for him.

 

Before he could regret it, Adam dialed Blue. She picked up almost instantly, the sound of her voice a wrecked sob as she gasped, “Adam?”

 

“Blue,” he said. Then, knowing nothing could fix the mess he had made, he simply repeated, “Blue.”

 

* * *

 

 

The police questioned him endlessly, of course. They tried to hide the annoyance that crossed their features, but Adam was intimate with forced understanding. He could offer no satisfying explanation for his disappearance, no kidnapper who made the effort of their sleepless nights justified. Instead, they saw a boy parading as an adult, who abandoned his car in a fugue because of the recent loss of his father.

 

At least, that’s what he told them.

 

As he sat in the back of an ambulance, a doctor checking his vital signs, Blue clenched his hand. He spoke, weaving stories about how he couldn’t remember anything except leaving the wake and pulling his car to the side of the road before it all went blank. He was a little offended at how easily they accepted the story, as if something about him screamed, _Yeah, this kid is insane_.

 

It wasn’t until Blue had him safely back at her house, door shut, did she say, “You’re lying.”

 

They’d known each other for too long to bother denying it. Adam curled his legs to his chest and pressed his face into his knees, hiding the groan. “How did you know?”  
  
“Your clothes, for one thing.” She walked to him and fisted his 1800s garb. “The police probably thought you were a hipster, wearing shit like this, but I know better. Adam Parrish wouldn’t be caught dead in a vest. Where did you get these clothes? Did someone-- If someone took you and did something to you--”

 

“No one kidnapped me, Blue.”

 

Adam counted himself lucky that his ex-girlfriend came from a family of psychics; if not, he imagined the truth would have taken much more time for Blue to accept. Instead, she sat silently listening to his explanation, never once interrupting, as he told her about his first trip back in time at 16, then his most recent exploration. She took his cell phone without question, looking at the photos of London, and analyzed his outfit meticulously.

 

(He did, however, leave out the detail of Ronan. Instead, he described him as “A friendly Londoner who was gracious enough to let him stay,” which, ha. He was too afraid to even mention Ronan’s name. He’d whispered it enough times to himself to hear how desperate and obvious his attraction to the boy was. Blue would catch on instantly and they hadn’t exactly had that discussion yet.)

 

Finally, she whispered, “You’re a magician, Adam. You know that, right?”

 

“You believe me?”

 

“Of course. For one thing, I’ve seen much stranger shit in this very house. For another, I love ya’, but you don’t have a creative bone in your body, Adam Parrish. There’s no way you could make this up. Oh, but before I forget...”

 

Blue proceeded to pummel him with a pillow, shouting, “I can’t! Believe! You! I have been crying for _days!_ You couldn’t have shot me a quick text to let me know you were heading into a mythical forest?”

 

He accepted her anger with full responsibility. He deserved it, and even if he didn’t, this is what he always wanted: Blue, not feeling like she had to coddle him or deny her own feelings. It was almost refreshing.

 

Later, when her anger had calmed down, she lay next to him on her bed holding his hand. He stared at their fingers, brushing his thumb against the top of her hand, wondering what her boyfriend would think of this. Wondered what _he_ thought of it. Adam placed his other hand over his chest, feeling for his heartbeat, surprised to find that nothing felt unusual. It was the same steady heartbeat, reminding him he was alive and complacent.

 

“Blue,” he asked eventually. “Who called the police?”

 

“I did. And I don’t regret it one bit, Adam. If you want to be angry--”

 

“I’m not angry,” he said quickly. “I just-- Did my parents-- Or, I guess, did my mom even notice…”

 

He trailed off, his words dying in the silence of the room, joining what little hope he ever had of a possible life without his father. Blue just gripped his hand tighter and curled toward him, resting her head on his chest.

 

“Okay, this is good,” Adam said. “It’s done. I’m… I’m officially done.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning Blue was horrified when he said he was going back to the forest. He had borrowed her car for a quick trip to the store, his own shitty Toyota still locked up with the police somewhere, and bought plenty of razors and deodorant and soap to last Ronan years. He told her he was returning as he packed it all into a bag, stuffing several clean pairs of underwear next to the clothes Ronan had bought him. Currently, he was wearing an old shirt from high school that Blue had stolen years ago to use as pajamas. It was uncomfortably small for him now that he ate steady meals at college, but he only had to wear it until he got to the forest.

 

“You’re joking,” she snapped. “Gansey is going to be here in an _hour._ ”

 

_Oh no. What a bummer._ Adam slung the bag over his shoulder and said, “I’ll make sure to come back a little early so that I can meet him, okay? _But I need to get back._ There’s no guaranteeing I’ll get this opportunity again!”

 

“Adam Parrish--”

 

“Are you going to drive me, or should I just walk?”

 

“I can’t believe we ever dated,” she muttered, grabbing her keys from her bedside table with a glare.

 

Thirty minutes later, Adam said he would call her as soon as he was back to be picked up. (She only agreed to _that_ when Adam said he’d bring her back a souvenir. Something she could never get in modern-day and would drive her cousin crazy.) She didn’t leave until he was too thick into the forest to see behind him, and even then, he ventured she likely stayed for quite some time.

 

Adam quickly tugged off his clothes and changed back, relishing the freshly laundered scent of detergent and fabric softener that he never valued until he didn’t have it. Then, he raced back to London.

 

It was dark when he returned but by now Adam had memorized the route to Ronan’s house. The door was locked, and after pounding on it for several minutes, he realized he’d have to find Ronan elsewhere. He hid the bag in some shrubbery outside, knowing it might be a pain to find Ronan in all of London. Thankfully, it wasn’t difficult to imagine where Ronan would be. Adam checked the first bar he found him at, but after seeing it empty, remembered that Ronan had promised to drink from the pub with the stolen sign.

 

He was nearly there when he saw Ronan’s figure up ahead, evidence of how he spent the night displayed in the way he placed his hand against a building wall for support. Ronan didn’t notice Adam coming until he was right in front of him, breathless from the commute.

 

“Hey, sorry that took so long--”

 

Ronan’s eyes took in Adam, darting from his face to his body in quick succession. Then, he used both hands to cup them to Adam’s cheeks, thumbs pressing carefully into him, as he backed him against the wall. Adam tried to catalogue the feelings of cool brick on his back in effort to ignore the sensation of Ronan’s hands on him, or the careful way his eyes still searched him.

 

“You’re okay,” Ronan breathed. His hands were shaking.

 

He was so close that Adam could smell liquor on his breath. He told himself to hate it, to find it disgusting or annoying or something, _anything,_ to will his desire away. It was useless. With Ronan that close Adam was compelled. It didn’t help when Ronan slid one hand down to Adam’s neck, thumbing his throat once, and fisted the other hand in the fabric of his shirt at his waist.

 

“I’m fine. It took longer to get what I needed,” Adam said slowly. He didn’t know what to say and he didn’t want to scare Ronan away. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I thought you-- I didn’t know if…” Ronan’s clenched fist relaxed slowly until it rested at Adam’s hip, his large palm starting a trickle of warmth that bled down to his toes.

 

Adam licked his lip once. “If…?”

 

The door to the pub opened and several men stepped out. Instantly, Ronan came to. He shoved away from Adam, facing the opposite direction, and said, “It doesn’t fucking matter.”

 

He took off in the direction of his house. Reeling from the 180 degree turn, Adam ran after him and grabbed him by the forearm, only for Ronan to shake him off with a punishing look.

 

Adam ignored it. “What the hell was that?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Ronan--”

 

“Adam, just shut your fucking mouth for once, would you?” Ronan hissed, eyes looking over his shoulder to the men following behind him. “I’m just-- It was nothing, I’m just drunk! Leave it alone.”

 

“Fine.” Adam hugged his arms close to his chest, willing his embarrassment to take a back seat to any other emotion. Anger would have been an easy replacement, but one look at Ronan’s wild eyes, the way they kept darting around to see if anybody was watching, made it hard to summon any fury. “I’m sorry. I won’t-- I won’t do it again.”

 

Ronan sucked in a quick breath. “Won’t do _what_ , exactly?”

 

“I won’t...” Adam faltered.

 

_I won’t leave._ He couldn’t promise that. He only had a few days left with Ronan, he’d have to leave eventually.

 

_I won’t want you so obviously._ That was hopeless, too, he knew. Not when Ronan had been so close minutes before, had left a trail of heat down Adam’s cheeks and throat, a flame that burned even lower yet with one look at him.

 

At Adam’s silence, Ronan cursed and said, “Just-- It’s late. We should go.”

 

Adam didn’t sleep well that night for many reasons.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Thank you for the support! I'll probably post another one Thursday night.


	5. London & Just Us Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: Ronan's problems with alcohol are finally discussed in this one. 
> 
> Also, Declan fans, please remember that I do, in fact, like Declan. Just trust me, okay?

_They never should have had this conversation over Skype. Blue had no other option, of course. It was too expensive for her to drive up, especially for a discussion destined to become an argument. Adam would realize that eventually, but not then. Not as he stared at his computer screen, pinching the skin at his wrist with his nails until they were raw, making sure to keep it below the view of the camera._

 

_“Of course I love you,” Blue choked. “It’s not a question of whether I love you.”_

 

_Adam wasn’t familiar with love, but he called bullshit. Said it even, too angry to think of regretting it._

 

_Blue shut her eyes, exhaling a breath the way people cried. She never cried, though. He hated that about her._

 

_“It’s just really hard, Adam,” she whispered. “I don’t think it should be this hard.”_

 

_He thought relationships could be anything they needed to be. Wouldn’t it be harder to be apart? Giving up was not an option for Adam. There were alternatives here. Things they could do to make their relationship better. He could come back to visit more often, or call her more, or maybe he would finally get connected with the free University counselor or something--_

 

_He said all these things, not that it mattered. Blue said, “Just… Think about it, okay?”_

 

 _That’s what hurt him the worst - the fact she had to leave their breakup call_ still _trying to placate him. That something about his voice or face made her retreat. He found it unfair, in some ways. How people would look at him and see fury simmering beneath, and even though he’d never done_ anything _reckless or untoward with his actions, all people saw was the trauma beneath. If he didn’t have a father who beat him no one would find his anger anything problematic. But people didn’t give him a chance. Adam was in control of his anger; abusing others was a choice and he never took it._

 

_So why was everyone a little afraid of him?_

 

_“No,” Adam said finally. He wished this wasn’t over Skype. He wished she couldn’t see his face. “You’re right. It’s not...working.”_

 

_“We can still be--”_

 

_“Please don’t say it,” Adam begged. “I can’t. It’s a cliché at best and a jinx at worst. Just don’t say it.”_

 

_“Fine.” Blue sucked in her bottom lip. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay? We can talk more if you need.”_

 

_She did text him, first thing in the morning, but he ignored it. He continued to ignore her because Adam did not take their breakup well. Some days he told himself it was less about missing Blue and more at having failed at something._

 

_In the end, it was probably a little of both._

 

* * *

 

 

Adam and Ronan were distinctly _not talking about_ _it._

 

 _It_ was a lot of things: Ronan’s heavy drinking. The reason for Adam’s disappearance for a day. The fact that Ronan had worried about said disappearance _all_ day. Also, the itsy-bitsy, _hardly worth mentioning_ fact that Adam’s one-way crush on Ronan might actually be reciprocated.

 

The latter fact Adam would have loved to discuss. Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. _A discussion_ seemed unnecessary, not when Ronan could simply push him up against the nearest wall again and kiss him senseless.

 

And he was pretty sure Ronan wanted to. There were hints. No, not hints. There were _glaring, obvious signs._ Like the constant touching: hands in Adam’s hair or fingers running down his cheek. Or the staring. Or the ever-increasing amount of time Ronan spent shirtless because that _had_ to be for Adam’s benefit, right?

 

But it didn’t matter, and Adam was having trouble coming to terms with it.

 

One, because what was the point? In less than two days he’d have to return to his time and then what? If he couldn’t handle a long-distance relationship with Blue being miles apart, there was no hope for a relationship across time. A hookup might satisfy Adam’s craving, but even then the important word was _might._ Because nothing about this situation was normal, including Ronan, and Adam equally _might_ find that fucking him would be an experience he’d want to do again and again.

 

If Ronan even let him. Because that was the other problem: it was 1884. Even in his time men got in trouble for kissing men. Ronan clearly cared what people thought of him and it wasn’t just the day he shoved him away. When Adam started paying attention, Ronan’s eyes looked _everywhere_ where they were in public.

 

And it’s not like Adam could tell him to buck up and get over it. He wasn’t stupid. Being together, even behind closed doors, could have consequences to Ronan’s life that Adam couldn’t comprehend. And who was he to tell Ronan to make that risk, especially when Adam was set to disappear any minute?

 

So they were at a standstill.

 

They were not going to talk about Ronan’s drinking.

 

They were not going to talk about where Adam went.

 

They were not going to talk about the lingering touches and the too-long stares and the way Adam _ached ached ached_ at the thought of never getting to be with Ronan the way he wanted to.

 

* * *

 

 

Day 6. Adam was trying very hard not to think about the fact he’d have to go back to his time tomorrow. He loved Yale - the way the campus was swept up in a soft, yellow hue in the evenings, light reflecting off the brick buildings - and he loved studying what he was actually interested in, staying up late to cram for tests and calculating how torque, but--

 

But none of that seemed to compare to being in the past.

 

Yale was everything Adam ever wanted, but that was before he knew _this_ was an option. Sure, 1800s London had its hangups. (Like the lack of showers, or how the poverty here made Adam’s homelife in Henrietta feel vaguely plush, and, you know, raging homophobia and the like.) But it was the hands-on learning experience he always craved.

 

Rather than sit in class and listen to a professor lecture about how electricity worked, Adam got to pull apart Ronan’s broken lamp and figure it out himself. Or instead of reading fifty pages about water filtration systems over the years, Adam excused himself from the construction site and examined it for himself. (It was all very terrible, especially compared to what was used now, but it was still quite fascinating.)

 

If only cars were invented. He’d love to compare the engine to what he typically saw under the hood at Boyd’s. (Which had nothing to do with Yale but everything to do with Adam’s particular brand of entertainment.)

 

He would go back to Yale. He’d worked too hard to let it slip away, had invested time and a relationship and a life to get into that school.

 

But he allowed himself to be a little resentful.

 

“Where are we working today?” Adam asked, eyeing Ronan warily.

 

He wasn’t in his usual clothes, the typical workers garb that Adam had come to realize was unusual compared to the long, buttoned-up overcoats and polished boots most men wore in this area. Instead Ronan had a pressed, high-collared shirt, a tie wrapped neatly around it, and a heavy coat that resembled something similar to what teenage boys wore for prom.

 

“Work?” Ronan frowned. “Nothing. Today’s a holy day. We rest.”

 

“It’s Sunday?”

 

Ronan jerked his head, as if to say, _Obviously_ , to which Adam rolled his eyes. Ronan hardly knew what _year_ it was a few days ago. He wasn’t one to judge.

 

“Your clothes look awfully nice for resting.”

 

 _“Awl-fah-lee?_ Parrish, your accent is obscene.” Ronan squinted at Adam’s outfit. “Your clothes are insulting as usual, but it can’t be helped. I’ll just say you’re some beggar off the street.”

 

“I’ll do you one better. How about I just don’t go to church with you?”

 

Ronan looked stricken. “But it’s Sunday.”

 

“So?”

 

“Skipping Eucharist is a sin.”

 

“So is saying ‘fuck’ every other word and drinking every night, I’m pretty sure, and yet,” Adam gestured his hand to Ronan, who was looking increasingly more annoyed. “Or wait. Drinking might be okay. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to church.”

 

“You’re fucking me.”

 

“I wish.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth Adam clamped his lips shut. His ears felt warm. They probably matched the hue of Ronan’s cheeks. “I mean--”

 

Ronan, bless him for once, barreled through the embarrassment by snapping, “Fucking Yanks. Parrish, you’re coming to mass. You don’t have to listen to a word the Father says, just look at the building. It’s pretty and shit. You’ll love it.”

 

Adam did not believe him, but in the end, it was just more proof that Ronan was a good judge of his character. He’d gotten to explore a bit of London throughout the week and one building in particular had plagued him. Adam was only ever able to see the giant dome peeking out from the city, always hoping to see the building in its entirety.

 

Later, after he’d returned back to his time, Adam found out it was called Saint Paul’s Cathedral. It was still there in London today, holding the very same Sunday mass that Adam had to sit through. He bought a print of it to put up in his dorm room, and he would trace his fingers down the various pillars when he couldn’t sleep.

 

When they first entered the church Adam was amazed. In a rare moment of public intimacy, Ronan touched his fingers to Adam’s jaw, shutting his open mouth. Adam’s neck craned upward to look at the elaborate ceilings - taking in the gold ornaments, the perfect circle of glass windows streaming in the morning light, and painted scenes of angels and apostles - until he felt Ronan tugging at his arm. It seemed unfair that he was still willing to give Adam that small little smile, not after Adam had finally come to terms with the fact they weren’t going to be a thing.

 

Ronan pulled him to a pew and ordered him to sit close to the wall. He left ample space to the left, which he used to place his coat.

 

“How long is mass?” Adam whispered. He distinctly did _not_ lean into Ronan’s space to do so.

 

Ronan blinked. “However long it needs to be.”

 

“Oh, dear lord.”

 

Soon after a blonde man - head full of curls - literally jumped into the seat next to Ronan, landing smack on top of his jacket. He was followed by another man who looked eerily similar to Ronan, eyes the same shade of blue and lips turned into the same downward frown, who wore a ridiculous blue jacket with gold buttons stitched straight down. Somehow, just by looking at the man’s perfectly parted hair and mustache, Adam knew he’d find a ridiculous little hat somewhere on his person.

 

(It was tucked beneath his arm. Of course. This hat was absurdly tall.)

 

“Ronan,” said the mustached one. “You came.”

 

“Brilliant observation,” Ronan muttered.

 

“It _has_ been a while,” the blonde one whispered. “It’s good to see you, Ronan.”

 

Had it not been for the sudden rise in tension, Adam would have elbowed Ronan and echoed, _It’s been awhile?_ What had happened to “mass every Sunday”? Instead, he kept his mouth shut while the men - who, if looks meant anything, had to be related to Ronan - exchanged stilted pleasantries. Perhaps because Ronan made no move to introduce him, Adam felt like an intruder. He tried to tune out the conversation, hoping the worn-out copy of the Bible tucked in the pew would be interesting enough to take his attention, but it was useless distraction once a certain topic was broached.

 

“He would have wanted you to settle down--”

 

“Piss off, Declan, would you? Now’s really not the time.”

 

“It’s time, Ronan. You can’t be in mourning forever, nor can you be half-rats all the time.”

 

Ronan turned to Adam abruptly, showing his back to his brothers, and took the Bible from his hands. He flipped through it casually while asking, “So, Parrish, does the beauty of this building  make you ready to commit your heart and soul to Jesus Christ?”

 

He knew Ronan was joking, yet Adam sensed laughing at the ridiculousness of it would be unwise. Especially since both of Ronan’s brothers had leaned forward to look at him the minute Ronan shifted his attention Adam’s way. Which was probably Ronan’s plan. He knew Ronan well enough by now to realize the topic of his father was off limits, and Ronan was willing to do almost anything to avoid it. (Like jumping off a building.)

 

“You know this man?” Declan asked.

 

His eyes were scanning Adam carefully and it was only then that Adam remembered the threat Ronan liked to toss around. _Declan was a cop._ At least his ridiculous outfit wasn’t by choice, then.

 

“Adam Parrish,” he said, extending his hand around Ronan to offer it to both men. “I’m his, uh, friend.”

 

The blonde brother introduced himself as Matthew, shaking Adam’s hand with enough enthusiasm that Adam had to stretch his hand after. Declan’s grip was more polished, the perfect balance of strength and brevity, and Adam couldn’t help but save mental notes on how he did it. His professors would eat that shit up.

 

“I’ve never heard of you before,” Declan said, his tone somehow alerting Adam to his hesitations while simultaneously keeping him calm. _Who was this guy?_ Adam sort of hated him, or perhaps he hated how fast he admired him. The line was hazy.

 

“Think of it less like a friendship, more like me taking in an orphan beggar,” Ronan supplied.

 

“Really? Because I thought it was more a babysitting gig. I follow you around, wiping dribble off your chin and whatnot.”

 

Matthew’s lips - which looked a little like a cartoon character’s, adorably turned up at the very corners even when he wasn’t actually smiling - dropped open at the banter. He elbowed Declan, snickering under his breath, though the sentiment didn’t seem to be returned. Declan huffed, rolled his eyes, and pointed to the front of the church.

 

“Mass is about to start. Settle down.”

 

Ronan caught Adam staring at Declan, responding to it with a tilt of his eyebrow. Adam didn’t know what he implied with that look and chose to turn back to the church. It really _was_ spectacular. He badly wanted to take out his cell phone - which still had a bit of battery left - and document the walls. He planned to look up pictures of the cathedral once home to compare.

 

Mass began shortly after. It was an experience that Adam did not care to repeat.

 

He curbed his boredom by reading the Bible (though that didn’t last for long; the minute he laughed, Ronan kicked his foot in protest), detailing the church, or watching Ronan. Catholics loved to pray, it seemed, which meant plenty of opportunity for Adam to stare openly at Ronan while everyone else had their eyes closed.

 

God, he didn’t want to leave.

 

When mass finally ended, Ronan told Adam to explore Saint Paul’s on his own. Adam suspected he was trying to get rid of him but took the opportunity all the same. Adam followed the church-goers outside, content to circle the building so that he could view the giant dome from different angles. He wondered if there was a way to get up there… He’d have to ask Ronan.

 

After fifteen minutes Adam figured enough time had passed for Ronan to talk privately with his brothers. He found Declan and Ronan chatting in a corner of the church, standing underneath a statue of a gallant man flanked by admirers. Neither man seemed to notice him coming and Adam caught the tail end of the conversation.

 

“You have to be careful, Ronan. You cannot have _friends_.”

 

“I _know,_ Jesus. I’m not a fucking idiot--”

 

“Well you’re acting a bit like one! Would would Da think?” Declan’s eyes shifted above, finally noticing Adam. His face morphed instantly, hiding what - to his credit - _had_ seemed like genuine worry, to annoyance.

 

Ronan was stumbling for what to say, clearly surprised by Adam’s sudden appearance. Adam couldn’t stand seeing the paralyzed expression on his face. Quickly, he asked, “Are we allowed to go up to the dome?”

 

Ronan jumped on the opportunity. “No. It’s frowned upon.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I said it’s _frowned_ upon, not that it’s impossible. We just have to be sneaky, so watch those loud feet of yours.”

 

Declan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. _“Ronan.”_

 

“Don’t make me curse in church,” Ronan sneered, tugging Adam by his forearm in the opposite direction. “As usual, seeing you was a complete disaster.”

 

* * *

 

Sneaking to the dome proved to be the exact type of fun that Adam had come to hate and love about being with Ronan. Ronan had to sweet-talk several guards, placing a few coins in their palms, but it was worth it in the end. Adam started counting the steps in the beginning but after hitting 200, he gave up. They kept climbing and climbing.

 

When they got to the top - which had a glorious but chilly view of the entire city - Ronan sat down on the ledge and hooked his legs through holes in the railing. Adam followed suit, though the long drop to the bottom caused him to sit more delicately than Ronan. There was no one up there with them, the last of the guards several floors below, and Adam relished the time alone with Ronan.

 

“This is incredible,” Adam said.

 

“It’s alright.”

 

Adam shoved him with his side, half in earnest annoyance but partly to sit closer to Ronan. At their proximity, Ronan raised his his eyebrow in a silent question. With a shrug Adam said, “It’s hard to hear you up here.”

 

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. It was so windy up at the top, and with his limited hearing, the closer he could be to Ronan the better. Thankfully Ronan didn’t question Adam’s statement; instead, he muttered something under his breath Adam couldn’t catch - words probably meant to be insulting, knowing Ronan, but losing their threat when Ronan’s lips curved up. Eventually Ronan shifted his body so that even their thighs were pressed together. (Though it didn’t escape Adam’s notice that Ronan snuck a look over his shoulder, back to the entrance, to ensure they were alone.)

 

“Your brothers seem nice,” Adam supplied.

 

Ronan snorted. “Matthew is nice. Declan is a tosser.”

 

Adam had thoughts about Declan, none of which he could put into words. He pictured Declan, polished and dignified. A man who clearly cared about his brothers, perhaps too much. But every time he felt the scales tipping in favor of Declan, Adam remembered what he said. _You cannot have friends, Ronan._

 

Friends.

 

Adam knew what that meant.

 

He wanted to tell Ronan that Declan was wrong. That Ronan _could_ have “friends,” that he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. But that meant discussing topics that were agreed to be left secret.

 

“You were staring at him a lot,” Ronan said suddenly. His lips were raised in a friendly smirk but his eyes were cold. “A man in uniform turn you on, Parrish?”

 

Adam leveled his gaze at Ronan. “Yeah right.”

 

“Your eyes told a different story.” Ronan batted his eyelashes in the poorest imitation of himself Adam had ever witnessed. _“Hi. I’m Adam Parrish. So nice to meet you.”_

 

“I didn’t say that, for one thing, and two, do you really want to go down this road?”

 

Ronan just shrugged. He kicked his foot into Adam’s, almost playful. Adam gripped the bars of the guardrail and debated not saying anything. But Ronan was still staring at him and Adam thought, _fuck it,_ it was now or never.

 

“You know who I’ve been looking at, this entire time,” Adam said. He licked his bottom lip. “Who I want.”

 

Ronan didn’t look away this time. It chilled Adam more than the wind to be looked at in such a way. He was the first to break, to look down at the ground below, dizzy from such a view.

 

After some time - seconds or minutes, it all felt too long - Ronan exhaled a long breath from his nose. His voice was quiet, spoken so that only they knew this secret, as he said, “If I could…”

 

“Why can’t you?” Adam asked too quickly. Then, realizing how rude it was, he added, “I’m not saying in public, but back at home--”

 

Ronan looked pained, craning his neck to the side and shutting his eyes. “It’s not that. Not completely, at least.”

 

Adam knew the respectful thing to do would be to let the subject drop. To let Ronan have his space, to avoid the subject if it was too painful. But Adam Parrish _wanted_ and he found it unbearable, suddenly, to be so close to getting the truth.

 

“Is it…” He trailed off, pointing to the church below.

 

Ronan’s eyes slit open and he laughed, bitter. “No. Though blasphemous, it would hardly rank in my long list of sins.”

 

“Then why?” Adam bit his cheek. “No, sorry, don’t answer that. I’m being an ass.”

 

“You’re always a bit of an ass,” Ronan said, but after another quick look behind him, he suddenly reached for Adam’s hand. He didn’t hold it. Instead, he twisted Adam’s palm open and let his fingers graze it. Then, in a broken breath, he said, “He didn’t know. That I… That I’m...”

 

It was all Ronan could manage, and probably the closest Ronan would ever come to saying it. Adam watched their hands, unable to look Ronan in the eyes when so vulnerable.

 

“Your father?” Adam whispered.

 

Ronan nodded. “I thought about telling him all the time and I didn’t, and now I never can. And I don’t know what he would have thought.”

 

After turning his words over for a moment, Adam said, “I’m sure he wouldn’t have cared. He loved you.”

 

Ronan exhaled rough, likely an attempt at laughing but one that didn’t make its target. “You think so, Parrish? That fathers just love you unconditionally, no matter what?”

 

Adam knew he was poking at his own wounds intentionally but he couldn’t blame Ronan for doing so. Ronan wasn’t looking for an optimist. He wasn’t spilling his secrets in the hopes for a touching moment, for Adam to reassure him that everything would be okay.

 

Though Ronan didn’t know the full picture of Robert Parrish’s rage, he knew that Adam was proof that fathers didn’t always breed love.

 

When Adam failed to come up with words, Ronan pulled his hand away from his palm and sighed. “Let’s go home, Parrish.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ronan avoided him for most of the day. It was evening when Adam tentatively knocked at his door. From inside, Ronan called for him to come in, where Adam found him lounging on his bed, one leg kicked up on his knee, continuously flipping a coin on his thumb.

 

Adam lingered in the doorframe. “So tomorrow…”

 

“You have to go home?”

 

Adam nodded.

 

Ronan still wasn’t looking at him. For a moment, the only sound was the coin whistling in the air as Ronan flipped it. Then, he asked, “Are you going to need passage to the docks?”

 

“No. I, uh, I’ll be fine.” He hoped Ronan wouldn’t press him for more details on his return home, as he had none, but thankfully Ronan seemed too preoccupied with flipping his coin. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to know.

 

Silence filled the room again.

 

Adam wished he hadn’t pressed Ronan earlier. He ruined his last, real day with him. There was too much tension in the air; too much _want_ on Adam’s end and too much regret on Ronan’s.

 

“I, uh, I might go for one last walk or something.” Adam knocked his knuckles on the door frame. “I’ll be back--”

 

Ronan jumped up from the bed, letting the coin fall from mid air to clatter on the ground. He walked to Adam, stood directly in front of him, and said, “Don’t.”

 

“Don’t what?”

 

Ronan leaned his head against the door frame, eyes closed, and cursed under his breath. Adam thought of God, briefly, and allowed himself one silent prayer. _Don’t tell me not to go,_ he thought. _Don’t say it. Don’t say it. I wouldn’t know what to do._

 

Ronan didn’t say it. In some ways, what he said was worse. “Don’t avoid me. Don’t act different around me.”

 

“I’m not the one hiding,” Adam countered.

 

Ronan gripped the door and hit his head against the frame. “I know. And I don’t know how you do it. How you can just know what you want and go for it.”

 

“I’ve had practice,” Adam admitted.

 

Ronan slid his eyes open. In a low voice he asked, “You’ve been with a man before?”

 

That wasn’t what Adam meant and Ronan’s direct question caused Adam to flush. He didn’t think Ronan would ever say it in words, what he wanted, and Adam stuttered out his response.

 

“Oh, well, uh, not technically. I’ve wanted to. I’ve really only been with my girlfriend.” When Ronan’s eyes narrowed, Adam quickly added, “My ex. Wait, do you even know what that means? We’re not together anymore. It didn’t work out.”

 

Ronan contemplated Adam’s words carefully. His fingers rose to the hem of Adam’s shirt and he pinched it gently. He refused to look at Adam when he said, “I’ve never. Obviously…”

 

Adam swallowed, heart jumping at the direction of this conversation. He told himself not to get excited but his body didn’t listen. This was flirting. This was suggestive. Ronan was close and it wasn’t a secret anymore that each wanted this. _Don’t get your hopes up, Adam,_ he told himself.

 

But then Ronan touched his fingers to Adam’s cheek.

 

Adam felt heat pooling beneath his surface. Ronan’s lips were parted, nerves evident in his uneven breaths and as he mouthed unsaid words. Adam searched his face, trying to catch his eyes, not displeased when he realized it was his lips that captured Ronan’s full gaze. He wanted to tell him, _Do it. Kiss me. Now. Please. Please._ He wanted to beg for Ronan to cross the divide but knew this was the one area of his life where wanting something badly enough might not yield results.

 

Instead, Adam looked to Ronan’s hand, hung at his side and shaking, and laced his fingers through his. Pressed his palm against Ronan’s palm and hoped there was a god listening to this prayer.

 

Ronan stepped close to Adam’s body, dug his free hand into the fabric of Adam’s side to steady it. Then, so carefully, Ronan finally brushed his lips against Adam’s. At the touch, Ronan clenched their joined hands. It was gentle and so very, very intense.

 

Ronan pulled his lips back almost instantly, but he rested his forehead against Adam’s. Eyes closed, he whispered, “Fuck.”

 

Adam knew that anything he could say would scare Ronan so he kept his mouth shut, except to pull his bottom lip under his teeth for a moment. When his lip slipped back out, Ronan pressed forward and cursed again, but this time against Adam’s mouth. This time, the kiss lingered. This time, Ronan shuddered. This time, Adam moaned when Ronan stepped away.

 

“I need--” Ronan couldn’t meet his gaze. “Just give me a moment.”

 

He left Adam in the doorframe, dazed. When Ronan didn’t come back immediately, Adam slid into his room and placed his hand on the wall, tracing his way to the bed. He sat down, mouth tingling, and he hit his hands against his thighs in quick beats.

 

Ronan returned at the door a minute later, the back of his hand covering his mouth. Adam could tell he was breathing heavy from the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders, but Ronan wouldn’t move close. Slowly, Ronan lowered his hand to his side, and Adam met this subtle move by standing up from the bed, hoping to God they were on the same page.

 

They were.

 

Ronan surged forward, cupping one hand on the back of Adam’s head and the other on his jaw, tilting his head to meet his lips. It was a little messy and a little too hard but Adam whined all the same, desperate for more. His hands found Ronan’s waist, thumbs pressing into him, but it still wasn’t enough.

 

Adam pulled his lips back a few centimeters, knowing Ronan would chase after him. He opened his mouth to the kiss and Ronan groaned, seemingly irritated and turned on by Adam’s bravado, but it didn’t matter. Adam got what he wanted, smiling as his tongue met Ronan’s, and then--

 

He tasted liquor.

 

Adam pulled back instantly. “Did you-- Did you go take a shot?”

 

“Adam, shut up,” Ronan ordered, pressing back to Adam.

 

He met Ronan’s move with tight lips, pulling away again to continue the question, “Ronan--”

 

Annoyed by his questions, Ronan dipped his head, looking for other places to put his lips. When they found Adam’s neck, Ronan’s tongue swiped at him once before he was sucking at the juncture of Adam’s throat and shoulder. Adam’s eyes fluttered, distracted by how good it felt, but the thought kept nagging at him.

 

“Ronan, this isn’t--” When Ronan bit his neck, Adam groaned. “Ronan, come on, stop.”

 

At the request, Ronan instantly backed off and spun around, resting his palms against the wall, as if he needed the support to stop him from touching Adam.

 

Adam let his breath return to normal before he asked, “Ronan, why did you do that?”

 

“What does it matter?” Ronan asked.

 

“You _kissed_ me and your first reaction was to get drunk. I think it kind of _matters_!”

 

“Do you want to do this or not?” Ronan asked.

 

 _“Do you?”_ Adam countered. He ran a hand through his hair in an effort to do _something_ besides get angry. “If you have to get drunk to psyche yourself up to be with me then I’m not sure--”

 

“What the fuck do you want me to do, then?” Ronan yelled, spinning to look back at Adam. His voice was harsh but his face betrayed his worry.

 

It left Adam with no words. He fumbled, looking for a response. When Adam remained silent, Ronan slammed his palm into the wall and left the room; Adam was unsurprised to hear cupboards opening in the kitchen.

 

 _This was wrong._ It had felt so good, so perfect, but now… Knowing he couldn’t leave Ronan alone for long without the man drinking himself stupid, Adam gathered his courage. Sure enough, Ronan had poured himself a glass of whisky and was downing the entire shot when he saw Adam.

 

His hands were shaking. Adam grabbed the cup from Ronan’s hand and set it on the counter. He then took Ronan’s hand, pressed his fingers into a fist, and brought Ronan’s knuckles to his lips. Whether it was the alcohol or Adam, Ronan seemed to simmer down, his uneven breaths slowly returning to normal.

 

“I’m sorry. I pushed you,” Adam whispered against Ronan’s hand.

 

“No,” Ronan said. His voice was thick. “You were perfect.”

 

They stood in the silence of the kitchen, Adam running his lips against Ronan’s knuckles again and again, Ronan lifting his hand to smooth down Adam’s hair. His thumb lingered at Adam’s ear, tracing the curve of it.

 

“We can try again tomorrow, maybe,” Ronan said finally. “I won’t-- I’ll figure something out.”

 

Adam shut his eyes, placed a kiss on Ronan’s palm, and let it go. “No.”

 

“It wasn’t good?” Ronan asked with an edge of panic.

 

The absurdity of that statement left Adam gasping a laugh. As if that wasn’t the first time in years that Adam had felt something so intense, the first time in years Adam had wanted to devour someone whole. As if he didn’t want to kiss Ronan again and again and again.

 

“No, it was good. _Really_ good,” Adam admitted. “But that… It doesn’t matter if it was good.”

 

“Is this because you’re leaving? Just stay a little longer. We’ll figure this out--”

 

“Ronan.” Adam placed his hand on Ronan’s chest and smoothed down his shirt, unable to look him in the face. “I can’t. And even if I could, it doesn’t matter. I don’t think-- I’m not sure you’re ready for this. I know you want to be, but...”

 

Ronan fell silent. Adam snuck a look up to see what expression his face held. Ronan betrayed no emotion; his face was distant and cold and Adam had the distinct feeling he was running away.

 

“Ronan, I want this. I’ve wanted this since the first night I met you, because you listen to me and you make me laugh and you’re also ridiculously good looking.” He offered Ronan the smallest smile, hoping he’d mimic him. “But it’s just...not the right time.”

 

Something in his words made Ronan crack. He hung his head, resting it against Adam’s shoulder, and wrapped his arms around his waist.

 

Adam lifted his hand to run it down Ronan’s back.

 

Fucking timing.

 

* * *

 

 

Adam didn’t sleep that night. He lay on the couch outside, listening to Ronan toss and turn. He tried to calculate if there was any way to stay longer; whether he could afford a new plane ticket back to Connecticut, or if his professors would grant another extension.

 

But it didn’t matter.

 

* * *

 

 

Saying goodbye was hard. Ronan kissed Adam, slow and sweet, as they stood in the middle of the living room. He shook, still. When they broke apart, Ronan ran his thumb along Adam’s bottom lip.

 

He whispered, “Thank you for being my first.”

 

It wasn’t till he crossed into the forest that Adam let himself scream.

 

* * *

 

 

He called Blue to pick him up. She met him on the edge of the dusty road with a look of judgement, still clearly pissed from his disappearing act. Her anger dissipated the moment she saw Adam’s neck, where she pressed her finger to his hickey and gasped.

 

“Adam Parrish! Just what have you been up to?”

 

Adam pulled Blue close, wrapping his arms around her small frame and burying his face in her neck. “I’m sorry, Blue.”

 

She was startled, clearly, by the sudden hug. Or maybe because Adam’s voice cracked. Or maybe it was the way his hands shook. Eventually, though, Blue patted Adam’s back and said, “Hey. Hey, it’s okay, Adam.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they were almost back to Blue’s house Adam begged her to turn back. She did, only because he was near crying.

 

It didn’t matter. The forest was gone.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I write a lot of slow burn. I couldn't have them officially get together THAT fast, come on.
> 
> I consider this story to be three parts, and this was the end of part one. Part two is one of my favorites, because you'll finally get to see Gansey, Henry, and Noah.


	6. The City of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will read this chapter and you'll think to yourself, "Rachel, on what planet would Adam Parrish not immediately get a job upon graduation?" To which I say, shhh, don't worry, I've got a plan.

_You couldn’t fall in love with someone in one week. It wasn’t possible._

 

_And Adam hadn’t fallen in love with Ronan._

 

_He had fallen in love with history, though. It made Adam grateful to be at Yale once more, specifically for its extensive library, which allowed him to research any topic at will. It was all perfect timing, really, considering he had to declare his major soon._

 

_Adam threw himself into research. Since he hardly had free time between his jobs and studying, Adam created a schedule: he'd set his alarm for 4:30 AM, brew a large cup of coffee, and land at the library at 5 AM sharp. It was quiet then, allowing Adam to take advantage the library’s extensive collections of rare books before the crowd swarmed._

 

 _London had made him briefly consider architecture, so the first month back Adam researched architecture of the 1800s, but his fascination always lingered less on the design and more on how it was built. Another tally for engineering. He then dabbled with_ what _type of engineering he wanted to pursue, aerospace or civil or mechanical or environmental or one of the other many types, and consequently spent far too long tracing the plumbing patterns of the 1800s._

 

_His interest in history lingered beyond the point where he had to declare his major. Finding it to be the most practical, Adam chose to major in mechanical engineering, but at the end of his junior year, he asked how long it would take to double-major in History. His advisors warned him it would cost Adam an extra year at Harvard and thought him crazy when he did it anyway; Adam thought he might as well put his hours in the library to good use. Someday, the logical side of Adam would hate him for the extra loans he incurred because he couldn’t let go of his obsession._

 

_Adam’s dates at the library didn’t stop but, strangely enough, it didn’t affect his dating life. It was the library where Adam met Aaron. Aaron was cute - petite but built, like a gymnast - and he was constantly listening to music. He worked at the library and spent most of his time shelving books, the headphones hung round his neck drifting music into Adam’s ear, and the rest of his time flirting with Adam. He liked Aaron. He did. He was funny and brilliant and worked his ass off, something that they shared._

 

_But Adam broke up with him after three months of dating._

 

_The realization it was never going to work hit Adam one particular morning, when he was immersed in a book about the Metropolitan police. Aaron placed a fresh cup of coffee next to Adam._

 

_“The Metropolitan. Sounds like a band I’d listen to.”_

 

_“Oh, thanks.” Adam smiled up at him. “It’s the police force in London.”_

 

_“What class is it for?”_

 

_“No class. Just for fun.”_

 

_“Yeah, just a little light reading.” Aaron took the book from Adam’s hand and inspected it. “Is it interesting?”_

 

_Adam shrugged. “To me.”_

 

 _Aaron returned the book, then tilted Adam’s chin up for a kiss. It was sweet, but Adam found himself wishing he could get back to his book. Which was the exact moment that Adam realized,_ oh _, that was a problem._

 

_Aaron lasted the longest, though. That felt like an achievement._

 

* * *

 

Though he never saw a single toast, Adam could hear the constant clinking of glass meeting glass echoing through the room. The sound bounced off the perfect white walls and the vaulted ceilings, mingling with the laughter and murmurs of the guests. It drove Adam mad. No one had anything to toast. It wasn’t a wedding, it wasn’t a fundraiser, it was just a simple get-together of friends.

 

Except every “friend” in this room was a CEO, politician, or doctor.

 

Why the hell was he here?

 

“What was your area?”

 

Oh, right. He was in the middle of a conversation. Adam turned his attention back to woman.

 

“I double-majored,” Adam said. “Mechanical Engineering. And History.”

 

 _“History?”_ The woman chuckled. “Well, that’s an odd choice, especially paired with Engineering. A passion of yours, I presume?” Adam nodded, knowing that any response he could conjure with words would not be polite. “Well, I suppose it’s okay to have a fanciful degree as long as you have a practical one, too.”

 

 _Clink._ Adam sipped his seltzer, trying to focus on the woman in front of him and failing. She was middle-aged, the wife of some Congressman who was trying too hard to impress people in the corner, leaving her so bored that she attempting conversation with a random, unimportant person.

 

“History is important,” Adam countered. “There’s so much that we can learn from the past--”

 

“Oh, honey, I know. This is a Gansey party, after all, which means I’ve heard this spiel from little Richard a hundred times.” The woman clapped her hands together with glee. “That must be how you know each other, right? Bonding over a shared love of the past.”

 

 _Something like that,_ Adam thought. His eyes trailed to Blue’s boyfriend, Richard Campbell Gansey III, who was busy entertaining family friends. He looked ridiculous in a crisp, white polo that was tucked into pressed slacks. In an effort to be festive, or perhaps to seem less pristine, he was wearing a baseball cap with an American flag on it. Next to him, munching on some Lays potato chips and hardly paying attention to the conversation, was Blue. In the crowd of yuppies she stuck out with her hair twisted into two buns, in which she tucked a few sparklers for when it got dark.

 

Adam excused himself from the woman to go speak with Blue, pouncing on the opportunity. Gansey and Blue were near inseparable and had been since they started dating. Thankfully, Gansey couldn’t refrain from charming his family’s guests, even with his tempting girlfriend by his side.

 

Adam pulled her closer to the buffet table and muttered, “You don’t have to eat the chips.”

 

“Adam Parrish, you do _not_ get to start a pity-party because you’re embarrassed you brought _potato chips_. They’re perfect. It’s a _Fourth of July_ party. Not your fault that Gansey’s family doesn’t understand how normal people function.”

 

“Why did he even _invite_ me? He made it sound like this was a party, with people our own age.”

 

Blue cleared her throat. She was looking awfully guilty. “Adam--”

 

“Oh. This is--” Adam suddenly felt furious. He could see Gansey looking at them now, a perfectly charming smile on his face, but it left Adam feeling cold. “This is about making _connections_ , isn’t it?”

 

“No!” Blue grabbed him by the elbow and steered him away from Gansey. Typical. She always took his side. “He just wants to get to know you better, to be your friend. Which he desperately needs, by the way. His best friend is an old British man. It’s really sad, Adam.”

 

“And he thought the best place to do that is a party with all his parents’ business associates? A party where he’s too busy playing host to even talk to me?” Adam downed the rest of his drink and tossed it in the nearest trash. His tie was feeling too tight all the sudden. “Jesus, Blue, I’ll get a job on my own. I don’t need his help.”

 

“No one said you did! Trust me, you’ve made it _abundantly_ clear that you aren’t interested in anyone’s help.”

 

To Blue’s credit, she met his anger with her own attitude. It was a relatively new reaction, one that she’d finally felt comfortable picking up in the last year or so. He wasn’t sure what caused it, whether it was the natural passing of time, if she had finally realized Adam wasn’t going to explode if she pushed back, or if the amount of bonding they’d experienced in the past three years was enough to make her realize they’d survive anything.

 

“Look, maybe we had slightly ulterior motives for inviting you to the party.” Blue wrapped an arm around his waist and pinched his hip. “But at the end of the day if you impress anyone here it will be because _you_ impressed them.”

 

“But I would never even _know_ these people if not for--”

 

“Gansey says you can’t get a job anymore without the right connections--”

 

 _“Oh,_ and if _Gansey_ says that then it _must_ be true.” Fuck, Adam didn’t know what he was doing, why he was being such an ass. Blue and he hadn’t fought like this in almost a year. She wasn’t even the person he was upset with. It was Gansey and his inability to stay out of Adam’s fucking business. He pulled her outside the room to the back patio, which was blissfully empty. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-- I’m being an ass. But your boyfriend--”

 

“Wants the best for you?” Blue muttered.

 

“No, he wants the best for _you,_ which means it’s in _his_ best interest to get me a job. We both know you spend too much time on the phone listening to me whine about how I can’t get a job, or how my life is a complete disaster--”

 

 _“Adam._ It is _not_ a disaster! _”_

 

“--and if he can just get me out of the way, then he has everything all worked out. All his pieces where he wants them. Me, hopefully hidden away somewhere far from DC with a job that keeps me too busy to call you, and you, in your perfect little apartment--”

 

“You sound insane right now, do you know that?” As soon as she said it, Blue clapped her hand over her mouth. She was horrified. “Oh, God. Did I really just say that? I sound like a shitty, dude-bro.”

 

Adam, for one, was grateful for the slip-up. It instantly eased the tension between them. Nudging her with his elbow, he said quite seriously, “You’re a terrible feminist.”

 

“Shut up.” She smoothed down a few hairs that had escaped from her buns and sighed. “Adam, look. I know you don’t like Gansey and I know I can’t force you _to_ like him. But he honestly just wanted to do something nice. And you don’t have to worry about Gansey being jealous of how much we talk, okay?”

 

Adam couldn’t help but feel insulted by her comment. _Why wouldn’t Gansey be jealous?_ Was it so ridiculous to think that Blue could fall back in love with him? He didn’t want that in a million years - thankfully, any lingering feelings for her were dead and buried after-- Well…

 

“Don’t be like that,” Blue whispered. She looped her arm through Adam’s and led him off the patio, into a garden only a family as rich as the Gansey’s could have. It was decadent and ridiculous, much like the Gansey family. “Gansey isn’t jealous of you because he knows you’re still hung up on someone else.”

 

“I’m not _hung up_ on anyone.” Adam stilled his pace. He had to shut his eyes, thinking, _No,_ _please no. Not here._ Being at Gansey’s made him feel terribly vulnerable as it was, surrounded by that much class and power and money. Desperately, he tried to replace his panic with anger. It barely came across in his accusation, however. “And even if I was, _why_ would Gansey know this?”

 

“Because he’s not an _idiot,_ ” Blue replied, though her tone was light. “Honey, I love you, but you are not as unknowable as you like to think you are. You spent the first year horrifically depressed--”

 

“That’s-- I wasn’t _depressed._ ”

 

“--then you took the textbook rebound route, sleeping around, getting drunk--”

 

“Blue, please--”

 

“--so, okay, maybe I shouldn’t have, but Gansey asked what was going on and I told him.” She earned a glare from Adam that was both furious and terrified.

 

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” Adam said.

 

“No shit, you _never_ want to talk about it, and you clearly need to!” Blue placed her hands on Adam’s shoulders, as if she were about to tell him something serious. Their height difference made the gesture ineffective, but her words sobered him quickly. “Adam, it’s been three years. I don’t blame you for not moving on. I don’t know anything about this guy, but magic makes things...complicated and intense. And maybe nothing will ever compare to it.

 

“But _you_ are the only reason you haven’t moved on. And you have to someday.”

 

There was a bench nearby that Adam fell onto, digging his hands into his scalp. Adam had mostly avoided discussing Ronan and he wasn’t going to start now, not next to a shrubbery the shape of a dolphin. Blue was exaggerating anyway. Sure, he he was currently jobless and wasn’t exactly dating (the latter wasn’t even his fault - a particularly persistent fling by the name of Tad had forced Adam to delete all his dating apps for good a year ago), but that wasn’t because he was hung up on Ronan. He wasn’t harboring secret fantasies or anything.

 

Most of the time, when Adam thought of Ronan, it wasn’t even about _them_ ; he wasn’t lingering on the possibility of romance, or missing Ronan’s touch, or wishing they had a future. The part that plagued Adam the most was how it _ended_.  

 

Because he left Ronan. Left him when he was battling grief, alcoholism, and arguably a large dose of internalized homophobia. Adam kissed him and left him and _who the fuck does that?_ Who abandons someone when they’re suffering?

 

He sighed. “I need some time alone.”

 

Blue rested her hand on the back of his neck, twisting a strand of his hair between her fingers, before the touch and she disappeared. Once gone, however, Adam jumped up. He had no intention of ever following her back into that house. His car was parked out front. He would just sneak around the back of the house and escape without having to say any awkward goodbyes.

 

And of course it happened again. The forest always seemed to know when Adam needed an escape.

 

Adam hadn’t seen the forest in three years. He’d made two desperate and uncharacteristic trips back to Henrietta just in case, but it was never there. Just a strip of dusty highway that looked like the past, but not the one Adam wanted.

 

But then there it was, recognizable in look but mostly feeling, as Adam rounded the side of Gansey’s house.

 

For once in his life, Adam didn’t think.

 

He just ran.

 

* * *

 

  
Leaving the forest this time was not like the last. Before, he had always left the quiet of the forest into an equally quiet environment. Somewhere easy to slip into. This time, however, the minute he stepped out of the forest he was met with a blaring horn, an unidentifiable scream, and by nearly losing his life.

 

Adam barely leapt out of the way of the incoming car. He fell back, his ass painfully hitting a cobblestone road, as he watched the back of a large, black, old-fashioned car pull away. There were people in the street staring at him, some snickering. Adam looked down at himself, worried that he had been caught already in ridiculous clothes, but a quick look back to the civilians let him relax.

 

Adam had dressed up for the party in his nicest dress shirt and slacks, assuming that a Gansey shindig would be filled with people dressed to perfection. (He was right, of course. Blue and Gansey were the only ones dressed down.) Though the men here had a degree more panache to their outfits - quite a few button-down vests, checkered shirts, and the occasional stupid hat - Adam didn’t look outrageously out of place. This was good. It would make it so much easier to sneak around, to try to listen in on a few conversations so he could get a feel for the year.

 

And then, well. He would just see where the universe took him.

 

Adam brushed the dirt off his clothes and, after checking both ways - because apparently cars were a thing now, shit - he crossed the street. It took only seconds for Adam to discover an immediate snag in his plan.

 

No one was speaking English.

 

Fuck.

 

It was fairly easy for him to figure out they were speaking French, despite not speaking a lick of it. He was able to pick out the _Monsieurs_ and _Mademoiselles_ that were peppered throughout their dialogue. There were far more shops in this city than back in London, and most had their names scrolled on the windows, many which started with “La” or “Le,” another recognizable feature of the language. He was momentarily distracted from his quest by a cafe filled with people sipping coffee and eating pastries. It felt something out of a movie, so quaint and perfect, that Adam had to pause to collect himself.

 

Still, none of this would help him get the _date_.

 

Ten minutes of walking didn’t answer many questions about _when_ it was (though if he had to take a gamble, the outfits the women wore - long dresses with low waists, floppy hats pulled deep over their eyes - led Adam to guess sometime in the 1920s) but it did answer _where_ he was. As he walked through the cobblestone streets, past the beautiful, stark-white buildings with rows and rows of windows, a very familiar piece of architecture suddenly peeked through the buildings.

 

The Eiffel Tower.

 

He was in Paris.

 

Without thinking, Adam walked toward it, eager to see it in person. His task was quickly forgotten in the presence of the building. In front of the tower was a giant grassy field where people picnicked. Adam stood at the edge of the grass and shut his eyes, allowing himself one moment to enjoy the soft wind and the sound of people laughing.

 

Then, because he was Adam Parrish and he was a sensible man, he focused on finding the time. He turned on his heel, newly determined, and immediately crashed into a hard body.

 

Hands steadied him at his forearms. For a moment Adam forgot to breathe. He looked only at the stranger’s hands, remembered Ronan crashing into him all those years before, and thought, _Oh. Of course._

 

Except it wasn’t Ronan. Not even close.

 

Of course not.

 

It was a man, but the similarities stopped there. He was much skinnier than Ronan, shorter than Adam, and Asian. It was his outfit that shook Adam from his dreams of Ronan the most, however. It was such an odd getup. The man wore a bright red tie that was tucked into an argyle sweater vest, which he had then tucked into pants belted high at the waist. Most ridiculous of all, the man’s slacks ended midway through his calf, where he displayed matching, argyle socks.

 

He blinked rapidly at Adam, clearly flummoxed by a strange man bumping into him and being the most awkward fucking person in the world about it. He scratched beneath his nose, bringing Adam’s eyes to the man’s charming attempt at a mustache, pencil thin and straight across his lips.

 

“Uh, sorry about that. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Adam said. He pointed back at the tower. “I got distracted.”

 

The man pursed his lips, looking like he was about to talk, before Adam remember, _Oh, right. French._

 

“Sorry. You don’t know English, do you?” For whatever reason this seemed to annoy the man, whose eyes quickly narrowed. Adam tugged at his hair at the back of his neck and mumbled, more to himself than to the man, “Fuck. I don’t know any French. Uhh… Excusez-moi? Right? And… mer...ci… God.”

 

The man suddenly laughed. “You think I speak French?”

 

“Oh, thank God, English.” Relief flooded through Adam, momentarily distracting him from the fact that, oh yeah, he was asked a question. “I just assumed, since you’re here...”

 

“I do speak French,” the man confirmed. “And English. Hard to believe, right?”

 

“Why would that be hard to believe?”

 

The man seemed surprised at Adam’s response. He tilted his head to the side and smiled, just to himself, before he suddenly jutted out his hand for an introduction. “Henry Cheng.”

 

“Adam Parrish.”

 

“First time in Paris, Mr. Parrish?”

 

“Yes. Definitely.” Adam saw an opportunity here. He met a friendly guy, one who could speak English _and_ French, who seemed willing to talk to him. “I’m… a little lost, actually.”

 

Henry lifted his hand to his heart and said, “Oh, dear. We can’t have that, now can we? Where are you staying?”

 

“Well, see, I don’t exactly know.” Adam’s brain was spinning, trying to come up with a logical reason why. He should have thought about this in advance. “I’ve been traveling for the past year. Across Europe. I just got into Paris and I know nothing.”

 

“Lucky boy,” Henry said, eyes wide in appreciation. “Well, I’m glad you decided to stop here. Paris is wonderful this time of year. I’m not too busy if you want a quick tour around the city. I could recommend a nifty hotel not far from where I live.”

 

Adam wanted to ask, _And what time of year is that, exactly?_ It was the furthest thing from casual, though, so instead he agreed to Henry’s suggestion and waited patiently.

 

The man was...extremely chatty. As he walked Adam away from the Eiffel Tower, Henry narrated their surroundings in rapid fashion. It was jarring to have a host willing to explain the area and Adam reminded himself to be happy about it. He didn’t need a brooding, moody man.

 

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from searching every face in the street. He was not willing to face the truth yet. He wanted to pretend that it was possible, any moment now, to run into Ronan.

 

Henry stopped in front of a building painted light tan, windows filled with flower boxes and blue shutters. Above the door was painted, _Hotel du Jeu de Paume._ Henry took a seat at a bench nearby, took out a cigarette, and gestured to the building as he lit it and took a drag.

 

“I’ll wait out here if you want to check out the hotel. It’s real nifty, like I said.”

 

 _“Nifty,_ huh?” Adam muttered. At least Henry’s slang was easy to understand, though he almost wished he didn’t.

 

Adam had no money to spend on a hotel but telling this to Henry seemed unwise. So, feeling ridiculous, Adam walked into the hotel and stood inside for a moment, swinging his arms awkwardly as he took in the room. There was a man at the front desk in a red suit staring at him.

 

“En quoi puis-je vous être utile?” The man asked.

 

Fuck. This was a stupid idea. He tried to remember any French he knew - even stupid things he heard growing up - but for some reason all he could remember was Spanish. The longer Adam went without saying anything the deeper the man’s frown became. If he could just wait a few more awkward minutes then Henry might buy the lie that he rented a room.

 

“Mon… amie?” Adam ventured slowly, fairly certain it meant “friend.” He pointed upstairs and then at his watch.

 

The man at the front desk just rolled his eyes. People always said the French were rude, but Adam couldn’t blame him for the reaction. He’d hate himself, too.

 

In the corner of the front desk was a newspaper and, sensing the opportunity for a distraction and a possible date, Adam gestured to the newspaper and pointed to himself. The man, probably eager to get Adam out of hair, gave him the newspaper and waved him off.

 

Adam scanned it quickly, looking specifically for numbers. Newspapers hadn’t changed much in the past 100 years, thankfully, and he found it near the top like usual. The month was written in French, a word he didn’t understand, but the date was clear enough: 1925.

 

So. Another fifty years had passed. That was… That was fine. Adam twisted his neck at the familiar feeling of remorse bubbling in his gut. _No,_ he told himself. _You’re in Paris. It’s 1925. Just be happy._

 

He returned the newspaper to the man and used the only word he truly knew was correct in French. “Merci.”

 

When he found Henry outside the man was still smoking. Briefly, Adam wondered if cigarettes lasted longer than he thought, or if Henry had a bad habit. (He’d quickly learn, however, that almost everyone in the 1920s had a bad smoking habit. It clogged the air in the cafe Henry later took him to, and the city streets, and really anywhere they went.)

 

Henry exhaled a long breath and said, “All set?”

 

“Yep. Uhh, yeah. Yes.”

 

Henry offered a cigarette to Adam, who politely declined. They took off again, Henry leading him in the opposite direction, still chattering away. “Too bad you didn’t come last year. We just had the Olympics here! It was absolute madness, but quite fun…”

 

Adam felt bad for tuning him out, especially since Henry was helping him out tremendously, but the sights were too much. London had stolen his heart but Paris was quickly threatening to take its place. Or perhaps it was the decade. The 1800s had a simplistic and quiet charm, but the 1900s were bustling and loud and fun. The colors were brighter, the music louder.

 

“Adam? You there?”

 

“Sorry! What did you say?” He turned back to Henry with an apologetic smile.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Bunny. Paris is beautiful, I know. It’s why I never left.” Henry stopped suddenly at a crepe stand and spoke in rapid French to a woman. They exchanged no goods, yet Henry slipped her a small coin. Then, as if nothing happened, they continued their journey. “I came here about five years ago, now. Couldn’t stand the climate back home.”

 

“America?”

 

“God, no need to insult me after I’ve been so hospitable,” Henry said. “I’m Canadian.”

 

Adam knew little about Canadian history, though he assumed that any issue that hit America in the 20s could have easily hit Canada as well. The Great Depression wouldn’t have been an issue quite yet, and Adam racked his brain trying to figure out what Henry was referring to.

  
“Are you talking about The Prohibition?” Adam asked.

 

Henry choked a laugh. “Oh, heavens, no. I like my hooch as much as the next fella, but that wouldn’t run me out of town. Though, I won’t lie, I was quite relieved to see that Paris didn’t have nearly so many qualms about alcohol.”

 

“No speakeasys here then,” Adam muttered.

 

“Beg pardon?”

 

Fuck, he had to be more careful. “Oh, uh, nothing really. I just heard - I mean, I’ve heard about these things in America, called speakeasys. Secret bars where people sold alcohol.”

 

Henry looked at Adam for a moment, pursuing his lips. He was fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. “You know, we have those here.”

 

“But you said alcohol was legal.”

 

“Yes. But not _all_ things are legal here,” Henry said. He was watching Adam carefully, clearly sizing him up. “I could take you to one, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

 

Adam felt like he was being tested, suddenly, and he didn’t know the answer. Was he referring to drugs? Prostitution? Or... If Henry was referring to what he _hoped_ he was, it was a very risky gamble. Was Henry testing him, trying to make Adam admit he liked men just as much as he liked girls, so that he could catch him?

 

Adam looked at Henry, _really_ looked, as if he could figure out Henry’s beliefs by his looks alone. But the truth was that he couldn’t. Whoever said you could ever look at someone and know their sexual orientation had never truly looked at a person; everyone was a little unknowable, a little mysterious.

 

And then Adam realized, really, that it didn’t matter. How quickly he forgot that the forest existed, a literal escape from any perils.

 

“You mean men?” Adam asked bluntly. “Yes. Definitely into men. And women.”

 

Henry sucked his lips into his mouth and for a moment Adam was disappointed. He’d liked Henry. He didn’t want him to be a judgemental asshole.

 

But then Henry’s face broke into a grin and he said, “You’re full of surprises, Mr. Parrish. Well, it’s settled. Tonight, I show you the _real_ reason Paris is the city of love.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Welcome to the club, Mr. Parrish.”

 

Adam’s eyes were still adjusting to the sudden drop in light, but once they did, he swallowed a gasp. When they had first walked into the small cafe, Adam never dreamed the door in the back would lead to such a large room. There were people everywhere, women dressed in elaborate and beautiful flapper dresses, men in fine suits, and if they weren’t dancing, most people were drinking. The club was innocent in some ways - the dancing, in particular, leaned more toward having fun than getting off - but the corners of the rooms were almost all full of couples, men kissing men and women kissing women.

 

“Welcome to the only place in Paris where we’re free to be who we want to be. The password changes every night, just to be safe.” Henry was watching him carefully. “You sure you can handle this?”

 

Adam rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before, Henry.”

 

Henry was reaching into his pocket for another cigarette. “Just checking.”

 

Adam wanted to take it from him, to say, _Jesus, you just had one!_ but knew it was pointless anyway. The club was a fog of smoke and sex, you couldn’t avoid either. It made Adam’s stomach turn. There were bodies everywhere and it was suddenly and entirely too overwhelming. Adam tried to focus on the music - there was a band in the corner playing something jazzy, a singer with a crooning voice - but it was too much.

 

“Henry, actually-- I don’t know if I can stay for long.” He didn’t even wait for a response. Adam pressed his finger to his hearing ear, needing just a moment of absolute quiet. A moment to focus. He shut his eyes, counted to ten, breathed. Opened his eyes when it was time to face the madness again.

 

And then, of course, suddenly there was Ronan.

 

Adam felt like he was dreaming.

 

Ronan was walking through the bar, toward the back of the room, and Adam followed his progression in a haze. The bar was overcrowded, packed with too many pushing bodies, and they would block his view of Ronan as they walked parallel to one another. Adam tried to drink in everything he could, worried he was so desperate to find Ronan that he was making his own vision. If that were true, he wanted this delusion as long as he could.

 

It was impossible for Ronan to be here. It had been another fifty years, there was no way that this was _his_ Ronan. He looked the same and yet so different. He had grown out his hair and it was combed perfectly against his scalp, long enough that you could see a hint of curl. His face was clean-shaven in this time, no scruff visible. While his Ronan was disheveled and boyish, this Ronan was sharp, clean-cut, and almost dangerous. From far away, Adam could see his dark lashes and violently clear blue eyes.

 

Then, suddenly, those eyes were turning in his direction.

 

“Excusez-moi.”

 

A man appeared to Adam’s left, apologetically squeezing by him and effectively blocking Ronan from seeing him. By the time the man had left Ronan had turned back, greeting another man with a quick kiss to both cheeks.

 

Adam was still staring at him, desperate for Ronan to look his way again. He felt someone press against his side and ignored it, choosing instead to admire the all-grey suit that hugged Ronan’s body.

 

Someone whistled next to him. “I would not even think about it if I were you, Friend.”

 

It was Henry. He was staring at Adam, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as he grinned.

 

“Do you know him?” Adam asked.

 

Henry lit his cigarette and took a long drag before pointing it in the direction of Ronan and his friend. “Not personally. I know _of_ him. Notoriously picky, you see. As you can imagine he’s quite popular here, being that beautiful and all. I’ve never once seen him with a man, aside from the one next to him there. I have it under good authority they’re not an item, though.”

 

Henry offered the cigarette to Adam, who politely refused again. He didn’t smoke, and even if he did, he was not willing to take his eyes off Ronan for even a second.

 

“Do you know his name?” Adam asked.

 

“Mmm, Rémi, I think? Something absurdly French. Which reminds me, fairly certain he doesn’t speak a lick of English. I tried once and he just stared at me.” Henry leaned in close to Adam, stage-whispering, “His friend, on the other hand, is Czech and speaks perfect English. I found that out the hard way.”

 

Reluctantly, Adam pulled his eyes away from Ronan to survey Henry. “How so?”

 

“I tried to hit on him. It went horribly,” Henry said, taking one last drag of his cigarette before turning back to the bar and flicking it into an ashtray. “I thought if I just said something, _anything,_ in English, it would sound sophisticated and sexy to him.”

“What did you say?”

 

“I recited a famous advertisement in Canada for _Coca Cola.”_ He lowered his voice in what was meant to be seductive. _“Thirst asks for nothing more...than your lips.”_

 

A laugh escaped from Adam’s mouth instantly, but thankfully Henry only grinned back. He nudged Adam in the side and said, “Admire all you like. He’s air-tight, alright. Just don’t get your hopes up.”

 

Adam looked back at Ronan. The blonde man next to him had gotten the attention of the bartender and handed him a drink. Ronan sat with his back to the bar, arms draped over the counter and legs crossed, as he watched people dance. The blonde said something to him that made Ronan betray the hint of a smile, but otherwise he remained stoic.

 

This was a sign, there was no denying it now. The universe wanted Adam to be with Ronan. It wasn’t _his_ Ronan, of course, and Adam wasn’t sure how it worked but he didn’t care. He had been given an opportunity to be with Ronan again and he was going to take it.

 

“He would talk to me, I bet,” Adam said.

 

“Baby--”

 

“No, I’m serious. I can’t explain how I know, I just _do._ ” When Henry laughed, Adam had an idea. He needed money to survive, why not win some? “I’m so confident I’ll put a bet on it.”

 

Henry thought about it for a moment. “10 Francs?”

 

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

 

Henry laughed and winked at Adam. “Alright. Well, when it all goes blooey, baby, I’ll still buy you a drink.”

 

Before he could regret his decision, Adam pushed himself away from the bar and started the journey to Ronan. He wasn’t usually this forward with men or women; Adam’s usual method for hitting on someone involved slowly getting to know them as a friend and waiting to see if mutual attraction occurred. But Adam had been starved for Ronan for years, and he was desperate.

 

The blonde man saw him first. His hair was combed close to his head, but gelled straight back. Like Henry, he had attempted to grow out a thin mustache, but _unlike_ Henry, he failed miserably. His hair was too pale, too thin, and it didn’t have the same desired effect. Still, he had a warm smile, one that encouraged Adam, and he tipped his head in his direction. Ronan still wouldn’t look his way.

 

Fuck. Adam didn’t know what to do. The blonde was becoming wary of the situation, clearly, because he tilted his head and asked, “Qu'est-ce qu'il vous faut?”

 

Adam didn’t know what he said and displayed his confusion elegantly, with an elongated, “Uhhhh…”

 

The blonde smiled down at his drink and laughed. His voice was accented but, as Henry mentioned, nearly perfect. “Ahh. I see. An American. Something you need?”

 

Finally, _finally,_ Ronan turned to look at Adam. He held his breath, waiting for Ronan’s reaction. He wasn’t stupid enough to think Ronan would recognize him - the Universe was mystical, but it wasn’t omnipotent - but Adam placed his hopes on _something._ Either a smile, or perhaps a look of admiration or interest.

 

Instead, Ronan’s eyes flicked over his body for merely a second before they were back at the dancefloor. Adam had given more attention to a mosquito before.

 

Oh God. This wasn’t going well.

 

 _Just say something,_ he told himself. _The Universe wants this. It’ll work out._

 

“I, um, I saw you from across the room,” Adam said. He kept his eyes on Ronan, hoping it would convey to both men who he was talking to.

 

Ronan didn’t bother to return the gaze. The blonde peered at his friend with a mischievous smile, before extending his hand to Adam. “This is how Americans greet one another, right? What is your name, America?”

 

They shook hands. Adam knew his was sweaty. He suddenly understood the appeal of kissing cheeks.

 

“Adam,” he said, watching Ronan carefully. He didn’t seem to react to the name. To be fair, Ronan didn’t seem to do much of _anything_ , though. What was his fucking obsession with all the dancing?

 

“What an American name. _Adam._ I love it. My name is Noah Czerny,” the man responded. His thin lips broke into a devilish grin when Adam seemed annoyed by Ronan’s silence. “But I do not think you came here to talk to me.”

 

“Well--” Adam cringed.

 

Noah sipped on his drink and chuckled. “Don’t worry, America. I’m used to it.”

 

“If it helps, I know at least one person who wants to talk to you,” Adam offered. From his current spot it was difficult to see Henry through the crowd, and even if he could, he wasn’t sure if Henry wanted him to play wingman. “My friend likes you, I think.”

 

Noah looked intrigued. “Then tell him to come talk to me.”

 

“He tried once and it didn’t go well.”

 

“Shame.” Noah shook his empty glass, rattling the ice with a frown. At the action, Ronan offered his drink to Noah, who just shook his head. “You know I don’t drink that garbage. Speaking of which, what do you want to say to my dear friend here? I should warn you, he’s quite impolite.”

 

Adam swallowed. “That… He’s…” _Mine. He’s mine. And I’ve been his since 16, and he doesn’t know it yet, but he will._

 

Ronan had turned back to look at him now, face infuriatingly blank. Adam ran a hand through his hair and, just like that, Ronan must have decided he was too boring. He turned to Noah and muttered something in his ear.

 

Noah’s eyes darted to Adam. “He said he’s not interested.”

 

Ronan scoffed. Noah cringed.

 

“What did he _actually_ say?” Adam asked. “Something rude, right?”

 

“He said his favorite English phrase,” Noah confirmed.

 

Ronan looked Adam straight in the eyes and said, “Fuck. You.”

 

Though the Ronan he knew had probably said worse to him at some point, it was the hate in his eyes that startled Adam. He stepped back, instinctively, and lowered his eyes to the ground. It was wrong. This was wrong.

 

“So sorry, America,” Noah said, clapping Adam on the shoulder. “I _did_ warn you, though. He needs to work on his manners. You better go before the dog bites.”

 

When Adam didn’t move, Noah and Ronan solved the dilemma by gathering their drinks and moving to a table further in the back. Adam was torn. Embarrassment stuck his legs to the ground and devoured his voice, but the further Ronan got from him, the worse he felt.

 

He felt a heavy presence fall over his shoulder and Adam turned, unsurprised, to see Henry. “Poor little bunny. I take it you lost our bet?”

 

Still dazed from the encounter - both seeing Ronan and being abruptly rejected by him - Adam just mumbled, “I don’t-- I don’t have any money.”

 

“Don’t worry, baby. Seeing you collapse and burn was payment enough.”

 

Adam wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted, but he offered Henry a smile of gratitude all the same. Henry was soon smoking another cigarette, arm still dangling over Adam’s side, when he said, “Who else carries your torch? I’ll make sure you aren’t alone tonight.”

 

Adam watched Ronan as he sunk into a table, ignoring a few men who tried to chat him up. They left, dismayed, seconds later. Adam felt a small thrill when Ronan looked right back at Adam, though gaze still cold, while he sipped his drink.

 

“No,” Adam said. “I want _him._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

You couldn’t fall in love with someone in one week. It wasn’t possible and Adam didn’t do it. But seeing Ronan again made something else very clear.

 

He was never going to love anyone else. It was Ronan or no one.

 

And Adam wanted to fall in love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who follow me on Tumblr might remember that a long time ago I described this story as, "regular-burn-but-then-reversing-all-progress-and-repeating-slow burn." Now you might understand why. ;) But now you get to see Adam have literally negative a million chill as he tries to get Ronan to fall in love with him again.
> 
> Several people have asked me, "But I thought you said this wasn't going to be a descendant thing!" and you're right, I did say that, so just trust me. I have a plan.
> 
> By the way, as I wrote this story I tagged a bunch of posts with picture inspirations, cut scenes, quotes, etc. If you want to look through the tag, click [here.](http://lydia-st-james.tumblr.com/tagged/time+travel+au/) For example, you can read the original flashback scene that I ended up cutting [here](http://lydia-st-james.tumblr.com/post/162853209686/cut-scene-from-time-travel-au-below-that-i-dont). (Ultimately, after talking with my friend, we thought it was more Adam-Parrish-like to slightly avoid his problems instead of facing them head on. So rather than have him directly look up Ronan, I thought him looking up everything BUT Ronan [the Metropolitan, architecture, the late 1800s] but clearly doing it because he couldn't let go of Ronan, seemed more fitting.)


	7. The Heart of Paris

_Blue hadn’t been to his apartment in almost half a year. She usually visited Adam every few months, but classes at the community college and weekend trips to DC ate up most of her time. Still, Blue had a way of making herself fit wherever she went; within a few short minutes, she had thrown her legs over the arms of his roommate’s reclining chair._

 

_“What are we going to do tonight?”_

 

_Adam pulled up a profile on his phone and tossed it to her. “My friend Hye Ri wants to meet you. She’s cool - an Environmental Engineer. I told her about your plan for cleaning up the river back in Henrietta and she wanted to talk your brain off.”_

 

_“I have that effect on people,” Blue chirped._

 

_“We can meet her at the pub later. There’s one near campus the engineers usually go to.”_

 

_The evening went well in Adam’s mind. Blue seemed to get along with all his friends, and she offered him a wink and a thumbs up when a random woman gave him her number. (A number which he ending up losing, oh well.) When Adam shuffled into the kitchen the next morning he stuffed a plain piece of bread in his mouth so that he could take something for his headache. Blue watched him with narrowed eyes. Apparently the night did not go like he thought._

 

_“What?”_

 

_“Since when do you drink?” Blue asked._

 

_Adam popped a few pills in his mouth and shrugged off Blue’s question. “I don’t know, somewhat recently. It’s fine.”_

 

_“Is it?”_

 

_“You don’t get to decide what my relationship with drinking will be, Blue.” He tossed her a granola bar, suddenly too tired to make Blue a nicer breakfast. “There’s no rule that says I don’t get to drink just because my dad was an alcoholic.”_

 

_“I’m not saying that,” Blue said slowly. “I just-- I can’t help but notice the timing. You didn’t drink before… you know...”_

 

 _Of course. Blue had been pushing him to talk about Ronan since he got back a few years ago. She always wanted to know how he was_ feeling _, what he was_ thinking. _But Adam didn’t want to talk about it. He did_ not _want to talk about it. Not with Blue, especially, when she got to go home and be with someone who made her feel whole and charged and--_

 

_Fuck. No, no, no. He wouldn't do this. Adam forced his face to remain calm. For Adam, getting angry was a sign of stress and Blue knew this all too well._

 

_Carefully, he said, “I’m just having a little fun, Blue. That’s all.”_

_  
_ _But drinking was never about fun for Adam. Drinking was burgeoning guilt and heartbreak. Whisky was the tunnel that led from hours of “No, you were perfect” to dreamless sleep. Adam wasn’t sure if he drank because he needed the escape, or because it was the closest thing he’d ever get to tasting Ronan Lynch again._

 

* * *

 

Henry dropped Adam back off at his “hotel” a little after, lingering for a moment to sincerely tell Adam that he hoped they’d see each other again. They planned to meet at the club again the next night. Adam barely remembered to ask Henry how to get in before the man retreated into the half-lit streets of Paris.

 

“They change the password every night. You have to pay to get it,” Henry explained. “There’s a woman--”

 

“I remember.” And Adam did. The crepe stand Henry stopped at earlier. He had thought it strange, but only briefly, for he’d gotten too distracted by Paris and Henry and the club. “I’ll meet you there tomorrow?”

 

Henry saluted him. As soon as he was out of view, Adam raced back to the entrance to the forest. Luckily it wasn’t hard to find, considering it was the only part of Paris that had a giant forest suddenly sticking out of it.

 

Back in his time, Adam rushed back into the Gansey house, noticing too late that the party must have ended. There was a cleaning crew gathering discarded drink glasses, while the entire Gansey group was sitting on the balcony watching fireworks. Blue was wrapped in a blanket, snuggled against Gansey’s side, and her eyes bugged when she saw Adam burst into the room.

 

In another time, Adam would have been embarrassed. Right now, he just needed to talk to Blue. He gestured at her to follow, offering an embarrassed wave in apology to the rest of the family.

 

“Adam, I thought you left hours ago,” she hissed once within earshot. “Which, God, I know you were pissed but you could have said _goodbye.”_

 

“I didn’t go. Not technically.” In lieu of an explanation Adam tugged her outside, all the way to the side of the house.

 

Blue’s eyes widened once she saw the forest. It was clearly a new addition to the Gansey property. “What _the hell._ ”

 

“I went in already. Don’t look at me that way, I couldn’t help it. It’s 1925 there. _Paris._ Blue, I went to _fucking Paris!”_ Adam was pacing, too excited to be still. He had told Blue about all his past adventures, of course, but this was different. Before, his enthusiasm was ruined by his disappearance or by her worry. This time he was electric, charged by the universe giving him Ronan back.

 

She was clearly unsure of what to say. “That’s-- That’s amazing! But--”

 

“You don’t even know.” Adam grabbed Blue’s hands, clenched them tight, and said, “He was there. Blue, he was _there_. I saw him-- I _talked_ to him!”

 

“The guy?”

 

For whatever reason, Adam had never admitted Ronan’s name to Blue. Somehow, speaking it out loud felt like a curse, and he wasn’t sure he could speak of Ronan without dissolving into broken bits of a boy. Keeping Ronan’s name his own little secret felt safer. Plus, it was harder to trigger the cycle of self-loathing and guilt and longing when no one could speak his name out loud. That way, only Adam had that power; he used it sparingly, when he thought he deserved punishment.

 

“How is that possible?” Blue asked. “You said it was 1925. That’s--”

  
“Fifty years. I don’t know, Blue, but I’m not going to question it. This is a sign.” Adam let go of her hands, finally, so that he could tug at his own hair. “How is it that I have met him now _three times?_ At first I thought it was a fluke, just some crazy coincidence, but _three times?_ This is-- I don’t even know. What would you call it? Magic?”

 

“A coincidence?”

 

“Something! I don’t know, Blue. I don’t know! I just-- I gotta’ get back there, I have to see him again. But I wanted to make sure you knew where I was.”

 

Blue fell silent at this. She reached up a hand to smooth out his thick hair, but her hands were shaking.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

She took her hand back and, perhaps to ease the shaking, she began to bite at a hangnail on her thumb. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”  
  
“I told you, it’s the universe--”

 

“The universe doing _what?_ Putting you in an impossible situation again?” She lowered her voice. “I know you, Adam. You’ve been obsessed with this guy for years, and I don’t blame you, especially not when this magic keeps happening. But what’s your grand plan? Fall in love with him and stay there forever?”

 

She had a point. It was strange to be in this position: Adam, being temperamental and irrational and fueled by passion, while Blue was being rational and logical. He didn’t care. He thought through everything, _everything,_ with such calm precision. For once, he just wanted to go with his gut.

 

“So I should just do _nothing?_ Walk away, ignore the fact that there’s a magical, time-traveling forest that will let me explore 1920s Paris and take me to the only person who has made me feel like I’m-- like I could--”

 

He stopped, abruptly, when Blue’s face broke a little. It would have escaped the unassuming eye, but Adam spent two years of his life causing that face. A rapid blink and a quick, twisted neck, followed by eyes skittering away.

 

Before he could apologize, or even just explain, a new voice joined them. Adam’s heart stilled when he recognized the dignified tone. “I agree with Adam. It hardly seems like an opportunity he should pass up.”

 

Gansey’s words hung in silence for a moment. Blue sucked in a quick breath and hissed his name out, clearly upset with him. Blue’s embarrassment, combined with Gansey’s total nonchalance about the topic, spelled things out quite easily. It instantly curbed any guilt Adam felt for hurting her feelings moments earlier.

 

_“You told him?”_

 

“We tell each other everything!” Blue said, voice a little too high. “It’s kind of a big deal, Adam, and you know how he is.” She turned to Gansey for a second and said, “No offense honey, I love you. But--” this was directed back to Adam, “--he puts his nose in everyone’s business, including yours, and I could only take his whining for so long.”

 

“Jane, it’s difficult to _not_ take offense at that.”

 

Blue grimaced. “Shit. I’m doomed either way here, aren’t I? Well, okay, I’m sorry Adam. I shouldn’t have told Gansey but I did and it’s done with. He knows. So he might as well weigh in.”

 

_“No.”_

 

“Adam.”

 

“I’m on your side, Adam,” Gansey said, which only earned him a glare from both the remaining parties. “Blue told me about all your adventures. You can imagine, knowing me, that I found it absolutely fascinating. I would love to pick your brain about it, sometime, one history buff to another. Maybe we could--”

 

“Gansey, with all due respect, I have more important plans. Namely, going back into that forest.”

 

“Then what are you waiting for? Why waste precious time here at all?” Blue didn’t bother to keep the anger out of her voice.

 

“Sorry that I didn’t want to _worry_ you again by suddenly disappearing without a trace.”

 

“I think we all need to take a deep breath here,” Gansey said, and by his solid tone alone, Adam _almost_ forgot that Gansey wasn’t part of the argument. He had a funny way of slipping in, making himself seem at home. “If you take a step back, you’d notice that you’re arguing over the same thing: you’re worried about each other. That’s all.”

 

Gansey’s words worked. Blue and Adam caved, anger disappearing into the night. Adam grabbed at the back of his neck, massaging it, while Blue turned away to whisper something to Gansey.

 

When she finally turned back to him, Gansey’s hand resting gently on her lower back, Adam spoke up again. “I’m going back there, Blue. It all makes sense now. Why every job offer I get feels wrong, why they don’t _fit._ I thought I was being picky, or that I wasn’t good enough or talented enough for the bigger companies. It was a sign, Blue. _Something,_ either magic or fate or the universe, _something wants me to go back there._

 

“I have _nothing_ here holding me back. No reason _not_ to go. Other than you.” Blue caught his eye, her smile a cut to his heart in how broken it looked. He continued, voice steady. “I’ll come back. It seems like the forest lets me go back and forth. I’m not leaving forever, just for… a bit. Until I can figure this out.”

 

Blue still looked unconvinced. Gansey stepped in, playing peacemaker again. It was annoying how good he was at it. “Why don’t we make a compromise. Adam stays here for tonight. Mom and Dad won’t care, we have several guests here staying the night anyway. Everyone gets a good night’s rest and some time to think. And if Adam still wants to go back - a choice, Jane, that he _is_ allowed to make for himself - then we’ll wish him the best. Okay?”

 

Adam didn’t like that plan. “The forest comes and goes in _our_ time. What if it’s gone in the morning?”

 

“If this is meant to be, like you think it is, it’ll still be there. And maybe then--” Blue paused, eyes fluttering toward the sky. “Maybe then I’ll believe it’s a sign, okay?”

 

Adam wasn’t entirely keen on the plan, but he supposed he had no other option. Contrary to what Henry thought, Adam didn’t _actually_ have a hotel room. He’d be going back to dark and empty streets. So Adam followed Gansey back into his house, to one of the many unnecessary extra rooms, worrying about this predicament. What would he do for money? For lodging? He’d gotten lucky, last time, and he couldn’t count on 1920s-Ronan to offer up a free stay.

 

Gansey picked up on his worry when it became apparent that Adam wasn’t paying attention to his tour of the room. “Something wrong, Adam?”

 

“Trying to think through some things. That’s all.”

 

“Anything I can help with?” Gansey looked eager. _Excited._

 

God, Adam was being a bit of a jerk. He didn’t exactly _like_ Gansey, but Adam recognized he was a good guy. Especially now. Aside from giving him a free place to stay, he’d stuck up for Adam by arguing against his own girlfriend’s beliefs. (A crime that Adam was sure Gansey would receive a lecture on later.)

 

Adam sighed, giving in to his guilt. “I, uh, I’m just worrying about money. It wasn’t an issue last time, but it could be.”

 

Gansey brightened. ”Oh! I’m happy to help you out with that.”

 

“Gansey, I don’t-- I don’t _want_ your money, and even if I did, it’s going to be pretty useless in 1920s Paris.”

 

“I didn’t mean _American_ money.” Gansey pressed his glasses up his nose. “I have quite the extensive collection of antique money, ranging from Europe to Asia to South America. I’m sure I have some Francs that would work, some coins, some paper currency. Oh, but come to think of it, maybe I shouldn’t give you the paper version. I believe it went out of print, briefly, in the 1920s…”

 

Adam realized Gansey was waiting for his confirmation or input, but Adam was not nearly as precise in his historical knowledge. “I don’t know, but I’m sure whatever you have is fine. I can ask Henry for help, too.”

 

Gansey shut his mouth so that he could wear a particularly pleased smile. Adam didn’t understand his pride and didn’t care to ask, sensing it might lead to further conversation. Once Gansey realized there would be no further discussion he said, “I’ll go see what I have, then.”

 

He returned not long later with a handful of coins in different sizes and a few paper bills, all of which looked far more beautiful than American dollar bills. Gansey had collected the coins in a small bag for Adam to keep, while the bills were kept in an old-fashioned money clip. On it was a woman, looking pretty in a flapper dress as she bent down to fix her shoe.

 

Gansey caught him looking. “It’s an antique!”

 

“I can’t take it then.”

 

“Nonsense. It’ll help you fit in,” Gansey said. That stupid smile of his had returned.

 

Needing to look away, Adam turned back to the money. He counted it carefully, though it was of little use. He didn’t know how much it was worth, what the different coins meant, or whether this was a lot or a little back in 1925. He would definitely have to ask Henry for advice, else he would easily get suckered into paying too much for something.

 

Gansey had gathered a few other supplies for Adam as well: toothpaste, a toothbrush, deodorant, soap, and a few disposable razors. It was all collected in a nice leather bag. Adam forced himself to not be touched by his thoughtfulness.

 

“I figured you might want a few modern necessities.”

 

Adam set the bag aside. “Thanks, Gansey. I-- just... Thanks.”

 

Gansey smiled, brilliant and bright. Adam hated it.

 

“I better get to bed,” he said quickly, desperate to be alone. “I want to leave early.”

 

Gansey understood and excused himself quickly. Adam didn’t sleep well that night, despite Gansey’s bed being the most comfortable piece of furniture he’d ever experienced. Resigned to poor sleep, he spent a good hour or two memorizing different French words or phrases on his phone. In-between studying he kept thinking of Ronan, and Paris, and Henry, and Ronan, and the club, and Ronan. Mostly Ronan.

 

Adam hadn’t realized how desperately he missed Ronan until he saw him again. He knew he was hung up on him, of course, but he assumed it was just the guilt eating away at him. Or the what-if factor, always wondering what could have been. Now, though, he realized it was always just _Ronan._

 

Having spent all night thinking of Ronan, Adam was embarrassed to realize he might need to bring one more thing with him to the past. He spent the early morning hours debating what would be worse, asking Gansey or Blue, and tried to avoid the whole conversation by sneaking through Gansey’s bathroom drawers. He found nothing.

 

Blue was making a smoothie in the Gansey’s kitchen when Adam finally got the courage to ask. He decided it less embarrassing to ask Gansey, who was sitting at the kitchen island reading the newspaper, hoping the sound of the blender would overpower his request.

 

Adam wanted to die. “Gansey, this is-- uhh-- this is embarrassing, but I need a favor.”

 

Gansey’s face screamed _anything-for-you-Adam._ Blue’s back was still turned, oblivious, but Adam lowered his voice to a whisper all the same. Once the request was asked, Gansey couldn’t seem to decide whether he should school his expression to embarrassment or pride.

 

“I think-- let me go check. I’ll be back!”

 

Blue watched her boyfriend skitter from the room with squinted eyes. Adam tried to distract her by holding out his cup and shamelessly praising her smoothie skills. (It worked.) When Gansey came back ten minutes later he was hiding the object behind his back. Gansey waited until Blue’s back was turned again - Blue needing to rinse out the blender - and he quickly placed the condoms in Adam’s hand.

 

His voice was a bit too high as he said, “Consider it a, uh, belated birthday present. It was a few days ago, right?”

 

Adam slipped them into the leather bag. “Uhh, yeah. 24.”

 

Blue chose that moment to turn around. A sweet smile slipped onto her face, watching the two men together. She’d wanted them to be friends for so long. It looked like a perfectly sweet bonding moment.

 

If only she knew.

 

After breakfast, Blue walked Adam back to the forest. It was still there, large and dark and imposing, but Adam felt no fear. Blue wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “I still feel like this is a bad idea.”

 

“I’ll be okay,” he promised.

 

Blue sighed. “That’s what worries me the most.”

 

* * *

 

 

Adam spent the day in Paris using The Seine as his guide to explore it, knowing much of city was situated around the river. He walked through a market, making a point to study the signs for produce as best he could to determine prices. Thankfully they were usually written with numbers, and after watching people toss coins at vendors for about an hour, Adam was beginning to understand the currency. Feeling confident, Adam found the original hotel Henry had recommended, grateful to see a new face at the front desk. In broken French he requested a room for a week, crossing his fingers that the money he slid across the desk would be enough. The agent accepted it with ease and directed Adam to his room. It was small, definitely cramped, but nothing he wasn’t used to.

 

Adam hid most of his remaining money in the hotel room, tucking the bag beneath a rug. He kept a few coins on him, hoping it would be enough to get the code to the club, to buy himself dinner, and perhaps some clothes that would blend in a bit better. In each of these errands no one complained when he offered up the money, but no one gave him change, either. His prior confidence plummeted. He didn’t want to be taken advantage of, nor could he afford it. Adam wanted to stay as long as he could and his money would only last for so long. Plus, he fully intended to return as much of it as possible to Gansey.

 

When Adam found Henry in the club later that evening he placed his remaining money in front of Henry and said. “I need help.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“I don’t-- I don’t know much about the money here,” Adam admitted. “It’s not what I’m used to.”

 

Henry didn’t react at first. He blinked rapidly, mouth trying to form words, and Adam panicked. Was he being too obvious?

 

“And you want _my_ help?” Henry asked. He didn’t sound cruel, or off put. He was in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

 

“Uhh, yeah? If you’re willing, that is. You said you’ve been here a few years, and I know you’re not going to take advantage of me.” Adam gestured to his new pants, holding the slacks to the side. “Are these worth, uh, this coin?”

 

After another moment to collect himself, Henry pulled his lips into his mouth to hide a smile and peered at the coin Adam had slid toward him. “Hmm. This is a 500 centime, about 5 francs, so it depends on the quality of the clothes, honestly. You can find it for much cheaper, though. I can show you a few shops if you like.”

 

Henry explained the rest of the currency to Adam, giving examples of what he could buy with each one. Once satisfied, Adam hid away his money and thanked Henry sincerely.

 

“Don’t mention it. I’m so pleased that you trusted me. You never fail to surprise me, Adam.”

 

They had been circling this conversation for a day now and Adam finally approached it. “You keep saying that. Why?”

 

“Well…” Henry shifted in his seat, suddenly reaching for a cigarette. Adam helped him light it, by now resigned to Henry’s nervous habit. “It’s just rare to meet someone who doesn’t assume things about me. And it’s...nice. It’s really nice.”

 

“What sort of things?”

 

Henry leveled his gaze at Adam, cigarette dangling from his fingers. It dawned on Adam, suddenly, what he was referring to. Of course. He was so stupid. This was 1925 and they were currently hidden in away in a secret club, the only place in Paris where all love was accepted. If homophobia was rampant, racism was there too. Adam felt a burning shame for not realizing it sooner, for only thinking about what affected him personally.

 

“I’m sorry,” Adam said. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

 

Henry shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

 

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

 

Henry smiled into his cigarette, something sad and bitter in his lips. Adam wished, desperately, that he could tell him it would get better, but he knew his history. He knew his present. There was little he could say.

 

Knowing no other way to make him feel better, Adam bought Henry a drink and spent time talking with him. He found out Henry was born in Vancouver and moved to Paris for a marketing job several years ago, though he was suspiciously silent about the product his company advertised. Henry discovered the club last year through a man he was seeing (but ultimately dumped) and had been going most days ever since. Sometime into the conversation Adam noticed Ronan and Noah enter the club, finding their way to their usual spot in the back, but he told himself to relax. There was no rush.

 

When enough time had passed that Adam didn’t feel like the world’s biggest asshole to turn the conversation to Ronan, he jerked his head to where Ronan and Noah sat and asked, “How often does that guy come?”

 

“Most nights. Him and the blonde.”

 

“Noah.”

 

At his name, Henry hummed happily under his breath. Adam looked back at the men, neither of which were paying attention to anyone in the club but each other, and made a plan. If he wanted to talk to Ronan - _really_ talk to him - he had to separate the two. Noah was clearly his buffer and Henry liked Noah. If Adam was lucky, he could nail two birds with one stone.

 

“You should ask him to dance,” Adam suggested. Upon seeing Henry’s immediate hesitancy, Adam added, “I told him I had a friend who liked him. He seemed interested.”

 

“He wasn’t interested in me.”

 

“No, he wasn’t interested in _fake_ you,” Adam corrected. “You’re a cool guy, Henry. Maybe just try being yourself instead of reciting cheesy Coke ads. See where it leads.”

 

Henry thought about it for a minute, nose wrinkling. All it took was for Noah to slick back his hair and laugh, however, before Henry downed the rest of his drink, adjusted his tie, and said, “Why not?”

 

Adam watched him walk to Noah with crossed fingers. They spoke for a minute, Henry hiding his nerves by wringing his hands behind his back, Noah hiding his interest with a small smirk. Ronan had been paying neither man any attention, but when he suddenly leaned into Noah’s ear and whispered, Adam had a bad feeling. Knowing this Ronan, he was probably saying something rude.

 

Surprisingly, though, Noah pulled away from Ronan, looked back at Henry, and shrugged. Noah finished his drink and then dragged Henry by the cuff of his shirt to the dance floor. Henry caught Adam’s gaze and wagged his eyebrows.

 

_Perfect._

 

Adam practically ran to Ronan’s table, knowing full well that other men were likely to swoop in with the same idea. His enthusiasm left him embarrassed, however, when he slid into the seat next to Ronan, breathless and far too excited. Ronan spilled his drink at his sudden appearance.

 

“Fuck, sorry.” Adam used a napkin to quickly wipe at the table where Ronan had spilled his drink. He reached to dab at Ronan’s shirt, which shared some of the damage, before thinking better of it.

 

Ronan was clearly unamused. He snatched the napkin from Adam’s hand and pressed it to his shirt, glaring at him. When finished, he crumpled the napkin and tossed it at Adam’s face, then gestured with his hand for him to leave.

 

Adam wasn’t giving up that easily, though. His mind spun with what to say. Would this-Ronan have the same personality as his-Ronan? Knowing nothing else to say, Adam went with, “I’m Adam. I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”

 

Ronan looked away. In a slightly accented voice he said, “No English.”

 

Adam snorted. It earned him a quick glare from Ronan. “Sorry. It’s just-- that’s an obvious lie. We both know you speak it perfectly fine.”

 

Ronan twisted his lips to the side and repeated, “No. English.”

 

“Right. Well, yesterday you seemed to understand Noah pretty well.” Adam leaned back into the plush seat of the booth, getting comfortable. “You told him to tell me to fuck off, but he was too polite. You got annoyed. How would you know what he said, unless you spoke English?”

 

Ronan turned away, tapping his fingers quickly against his glass. He still said nothing, and for an agonizing moment, Adam worried he was wrong. Then, blissfully, Ronan swung his head to look back at Adam and muttered, in a perfect English accent, “Word of advice: next time you try to hit on a man, come on less strong. Stalkers are not endearing.”

 

“I’m not a stalker,” Adam said. “You’re just really bad at your ruse.”

 

Ronan looked down and Adam could see his tongue touching the edge of his tooth as he smiled exasperatingly. “Insulting me is not the best tactic, either.”

 

“Don’t make it so easy, then.”

 

“This is how you flirt, isn’t it?”

 

 _It’s how you flirt,_ Adam thought. Except that wasn’t necessarily true. Adam had to be careful: he kept treating this Ronan like _his_ Ronan, and he had no proof that they were the same in anything but their looks. (Except, perhaps, their grumpiness. That seemed to be a fact.)

 

To be safe, Adam switched tactics. His dating experience the past three years had been comprised of getting too drunk and making out with strangers at parties, or flirting badly through Tinder. If he had to choose one of the two methods, though, experience with Ronan had taught him the former was a bad idea.

 

He decided to focus his flirting by showing interest. Asking questions. “So, your name?” When Ronan didn’t respond, Adam added, “I’ve been told it’s Rémi. Is that true?’

 

The glare on Ronan’s face deepened and Adam took it as confirmation. Huh. Adam squinted, tried to picture Ronan as _Rémi_. It wasn’t a bad name, but it felt wrong. Adam vowed to himself that he would call Ronan by his proper name - thinking, specifically, about how annoying it was that Gansey insisted on calling Blue “Jane” - but allowed himself to continue using the name Ronan in his thoughts.

 

“And you’re from England, right?” Adam continued. “And don’t call me a stalker. It’s your accent.”

 

“Aren’t you so smart.”

 

Adam pressed on, ignoring Ronan’s pissy mood. “When did you come to Paris?”

 

“What makes you think I’m going to answer _any_ of your questions?” Ronan asked while taking a sip. The ice clanked around in the empty cup.

 

Adam craned his neck to look at the dance floor. Henry had successfully secured a dance with Noah. They were kicking their legs out and swinging their arms wildly, the type of dancing that no one in Adam’s time would appreciate, and it almost made Adam want to join. They both seemed content to dance for awhile - Henry wearing a big grin, Noah looking subdued but interested - and Adam felt confident he’d have a little more time.

 

“I’ll be right back.” He jumped up from the table and smoothed down his pants. He couldn’t get used to how high they sat on his waist. “Don’t give my seat away.”

 

Ronan rolled his eyes, but Adam thrilled when he saw him swing his arm over the edge of the booth, as if claiming the whole space. He made his way to the bar, fishing a few coins from his pocket, and waved to the bartender. Thankfully, the word “whisky” seemed to be universally understood, and with relative ease he ordered two whiskey on the rocks. He carried them back to the table, weaving through the crowd of people, and placed one drink in front of Ronan.

 

“I took a gamble. You seem like a whisky sort of guy,” Adam said, feeling confident that Ronan’s drink of choice had not changed.

 

Ronan stared down at it, tipping the glass toward him to inspect it. Instead of taking a drink, he asked Adam, “And _you’re_ a whisky sort of guy?”

 

“Yeah.” To prove his point, Adam took a sip. Truthfully, it wasn’t his _favorite_. If he had to drink for taste he’d choose gin. But because of Ronan, whisky had become something special to him. A drink he drank for the memories, not for taste. “It’s nice, once in awhile.”

 

Ronan was still staring at his drink. Adam, now growing nervous that his attempt at flirting was failing, took another sip to ease the tension. As such, he choked on his drink when Ronan said, “I don’t drink, actually.”

 

Adam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, embarrassed. “What? Like, at all?”

 

Ronan smiled, though it was clearly less to do with him enjoying Adam’s presence and more in catching him off guard. He pushed his drink in Adam’s direction with one finger and said, “Truly. I don’t touch giggle water.”

 

Oh.

 

Well.

 

 _This_ was different.

 

Adam stared at Ronan for longer than appropriate, but he couldn’t help it. He tried to catalogue every part of Ronan’s face. They _looked_ the same, Rémi and his Ronan; same blue eyes, same wicked smile, same wide shoulders and long legs. They had the same deep voice, the same way of making Adam’s skin buzz in anticipation of touch.

 

When Adam kept his gaze, Ronan cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Do you--” Adam licked his lip and wrapped his hands around his drink, needing the shock of cold. “Do you recognize me? Do I look… _familiar?_ At all?”

 

A beat passed. Ronan asked, “Should I?”

 

Adam didn’t get to answer. Noah crashed into the seat next to Adam, breathless and sweaty, but with a smile on his face. He instantly grabbed for the extra whisky drink, making Adam wonder if this was a common mistake men made when trying to flirt with Ronan. “Well, look who it is! America, you’re back!”

 

Adam looked to Ronan. He was back to staring at the dancefloor. “Hi Noah. I saw you met my friend?”

 

“He’s a good dancer,” Noah said. He pulled his tie loose and exhaled happily. “You’ve been busy with _my_ friend, here. Have you gotten him to talk to you?”

 

“Without you here to cock-block, you mean?”

 

Noah grinned, showing off large teeth with a little too much gums. Somehow, it made him all the more charming. “Cock-block? What does this mean?”

 

“Like, to stop men from talking to him?” Adam bit his lip. “It’s stupid.”

 

“It’s fun. _Cock block._ ” Noah said the words as if he were tasting his drink, savoring them with satisfaction. “Though I wouldn’t say _I_ do that. He does it all himself.”

  
Ronan’s eyes darted back to Adam for a quick second before they were back on the dancefloor. If Adam knew how to dance 1920s style he’d ask him to dance, being that it clearly interested him, but he didn’t want to look foolish.

 

Though every party at the table now knew Ronan spoke English, Noah and Adam continued the ruse that Ronan couldn’t understand. Adam kept his eyes on Ronan as he asked, “Why does he come here so often when he just rejects everyone? And if he doesn’t even drink?”

 

“America, you are asking questions I wish I knew the answer to.” Now Noah was looking at Ronan, too. He used a napkin to dab at his neck, wiping away sweat. “I suspect he’s waiting.”

 

“For?”

 

Ronan had grown irritated with them both. He growled, “Would you stop talking like I’m not here?”

 

Noah smiled with glee. He threw his arm around Adam’s neck and kissed his cheek. “Oh, you’re so lucky, America! He doesn’t break the act for many boys.”

 

“He sniffed me out,” Ronan muttered. “Czerny, go get me a drink, would you? And get some water for yourself, too. I’m not carrying your drunk ass home again.”

 

Noah left, leaving them both at the table alone again. Ronan spun his empty glass on its edge, staring at Adam. “Why do you look at me like that?”

 

Adam swallowed. He dragged a hand through his hair and asked, voice stuttering stupidly, “Like what?”

 

“Like you…” Ronan set the drink flat on the table, abandoning both the glass and his thoughts at once. He changed the subject. “How long are you in town?”

 

“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. “As long as I can afford it.”

 

Ronan edged toward him, just a foot, but it made Adam’s heart spike. Ronan was tracing Adam’s face with his eyes, lips still firmly stuck in a frown, and Adam desperately wished he knew his thoughts. What did this Ronan think when he saw him? Did he feel the same pull? Was he as stuck in Adam’s orbit as he was in Ronan’s?

 

Ronan reached a hand out suddenly, smoothing down Adam’s hair. His hand lingered, until he tucked a strand behind Adam’s ear. Then, Ronan’s eyes moved to over Adam’s shoulder and he said, “Your friend is waiting.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Ronan slid away, his back hitting the booth, and said, “Perhaps I’ll see you around.”

 

Adam didn’t want to leave. He wanted to take Ronan’s hands and hold them to his heart or to his jaw or better even, his lips. He wanted to crowd Ronan’s space and figure out what Ronan truly tasted like. He wanted, like he hadn’t wanted in three years, and it felt good and powerful and thrilling, but he had to be careful. He had to pace himself. This was not his Ronan and he would ruin it by acting too eager.

 

So Adam slid out of the seat, taking his drink with him, and made his way back to Henry. Adam tried to pay attention to Henry when he returned - because he was so, so entirely happy and couldn’t stop gushing about Noah - but his mind was elsewhere. When Henry took a break to light a cigarette, Adam caved and looked over his shoulder, needing one last look for the night.

 

He found Ronan looking back at him.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the amazing response! I couldn't resist posting early due to how many people expressed really kind thoughts, theories, and excitement. 
> 
> PS: Chapter 5 was my favorite chapter for writing purposes, but I'll say that next chapter is one of my favorites for the romance side of things. It's fun. :)


	8. The City of Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback in this chapter references Adam's mother and her being an enabler, just as a heads up.

_ At 23, Adam had finally accepted that his life would never include family. But people always show up when you’ve finally moved on. _

 

_ It started with a phone call from his mother. Adam answered the first time because he assumed something was wrong, like his grandfather had passed or she needed money. So when he answered the phone with a weary, “What’s wrong?” he was surprised to hear her answer, “Nothing. I just-- I was callin’ to see how you were.” _

 

_ The conversation lasted fifty-three seconds. Most of that was dead air.  _

 

_ She hung up first, of course. All fifty-three seconds lingered with him the rest of the week. What was her plan? Did she need money? Was she just drunk?  _

 

_ She called again the next week. Asked about his classes. If he had many friends. He got through the two questions before interrupting, snapping, “Just tell me what you  _ want _.” _

 

_ What she wanted, as it turned out, was to “reconnect.” To try to salvage some sort of relationship from the wreckage of Robert Parrish, as if she wasn’t just as complicit in the ordeal. As if she didn’t spend the two years since his father’s death pretending that she didn’t have a son.  _

 

_ After the fourth call, Adam told her this in no uncertain terms. He kept his tone polite, but he could tell by her stuttered goodbye that she heard the hurt underneath. _

 

_ His mother didn’t even try to apologize, yet as the week wore on, Adam started to doubt himself. Guilt crept in, slowly, stray thoughts that he were easy enough to dismiss until they turned to screams. He spent the next week without eating or sleeping, a mess of hatred and self-loathing, until he dialed her up himself. _

 

_ “Adam. Hi.”  _

 

_ She had the nerve to say his name as if she cared. As if she’d spent nine months carefully choosing that name, or whispering it in his ear when he skinned his knee. Like she had the right to say his name like that  _ now,  _ sounding like the way people said “I love you,” instead of how she really said it his whole life: shut up, stay down, don’t cry. _

 

_ Adam didn’t allow for small talk. He had only one thing to say: “You don’t get to show up and be a mother now. You’re too late.”  _

 

_ “I wanted to try,” she whispered. _

 

_ Adam thought of all the reasons he should forgive her and then he lit them on fire. “Too bad.” _

 

_ But fire often leaves ashes in its wake.  _

 

* * *

 

 

It was easy to slip into a routine in 1925. Work, club, flirt, repeat. 

 

Work wasn’t fun, but a necessity. After a week of exploring Paris and slowly spending most of his money, Henry got Adam a job at his office. It was just a cleaning job and it hurt Adam’s ego a little, that he couldn’t help with something more significant, but there were few jobs available to a man who couldn’t speak French. Adam comforted himself with the knowledge that, by working there, he’d get to eventually figure out what Henry’s company sold.

 

Sometimes, during lunch breaks, Henry would meet Adam and ask him for advice. Henry’s ideas were often overlooked by his bosses and he wanted an idea that was so fantastic, even the racist elites couldn’t ignore him. Though he knew he shouldn’t, Adam tried to think of what marketing strategies commonly used in his time might help Henry out. It wasn’t until Henry came down with a Coke one day that Adam had an idea. 

 

Adam tugged at his undershirt he’d bought earlier in the week, a thin, white, cotton blend that was essentially a t-shirt. “What do you call these?”

 

“A t-shirt?” Henry asked, eyebrow perked.

 

Adam was pleasantly surprised. The 1920s were often more modern than he expected.  “They’re always white, right? What if you printed something on it instead? An advertisement?”

 

“Why would you? It’s always hidden under your shirt.”

 

“Right. But it doesn’t  _ have _ to be, right? Imagine it’s too hot to wear a sweater or a button-down. It wouldn’t be insanely scandalous to just wear the t-shirt, right?” When Henry remained unconvinced, Adam pointed to his chest and explained, “Look, I used to have this shirt that said  _ Coca Cola _ on it. I wore it all the time until I lost it, and it  _ always _ made me want to drink a Coke.”

 

Henry’s lips twitched into a smile. “And did you? Buy a lot of Coke?”

 

“Well. I was pretty broke, so not a lot, but I definitely preferred it to Pepsi.”

 

Henry seemed to seriously consider the idea for awhile. Adam nudged him, eventually, and said, “No pressure. Just… maybe think about it. I loved that shirt.”

 

“Right. No, I love the idea, don’t get me wrong.” Henry rested his elbows on the table and squinted. “I’m just trying to imagine people wearing a shirt that said  _ ‘NEW LATEX CONDOMS: I TAKE ONE EVERYWHERE I TAKE MY PENIS’ _ on their chest.”

 

A beat passed, then Adam laughed so hard he was scolded by a secretary. Henry muttered, “This is why I never tell people what I do,” but soon he was joining Adam. 

 

After work, Henry and Adam often met up at the club, joining Ronan and Noah’s table each night. Though Ronan maintained his cool demeanor toward Adam most of the time, he didn’t tell him to leave either. Adam hoped it meant he was growing on Ronan, but logic told him it had more to do with Noah.

 

Because Noah seemed intrigued by Henry. Nothing had happened between the two, much to Henry’s displeasure, but every night Noah would pepper Henry with questions. He’d steal the cigarette from Henry’s lips, take a drag, ask a question, give the cigarette back, steal it again, another question, on and on. He’d ask,  _ What is Canada like? Did you study French before you came? What’s your favorite advertisement you’ve ever written? Have you ever been to Prague? Would you  _ like _ to go to Prague?  _ When Henry had sufficiently answered all of Noah’s nightly questions, the blonde would pull him to the dancefloor. 

 

Adam liked these moments best, part because it made Henry light up, but mostly because it left Adam and Ronan alone. Most nights Ronan would watch Noah and Henry carefully, but sometimes Adam could direct his attention back to himself.

 

“So you don’t drink. And you don’t seem to smoke, either,” Adam said one night. “What’s your vice of choice, then?”

 

“Nothing. I’m a good, Catholic boy.”

 

Adam leveled his gaze at Ronan, hoping it conveyed the sentiment of  _ you’re-so-fucking-full-of-shit. _ In response, Ronan made the sign of the cross and batted his eyelashes innocently. 

 

“Gambling?” Adam asked.

 

“Bores me. I have a perfect poker face, so it’s too easy.”

 

“Oh, my God, why do I like you?” Adam leaned forward on his elbows and lowered his voice. “Is it something sexy?”

 

Ronan bit his bottom lip, peeked over his shoulder, and whispered back, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

“I mean. Yeah.”

 

Ronan stuffed his hand into Adam’s face and said, “What did I tell you about coming on too desperate?”

 

They spent several nights like this, bantering on bad days, possibly flirting on good days. Most of the evenings were spent with Ronan hardly paying him any attention, eyes always stuck on the dancefloor. After a week and a half of these small gains with Ronan, Adam felt it distinctly  _ not enough. _ He didn’t know what more to do. It wasn’t like he was being subtle about his interest in Ronan.

 

He thought the universe was being cruel in many ways. For placing Ronan in front of him in a perfectly tailored suit and not letting Adam touch him, or for making the  _ one _ sure-ticket flirting technique be the one thing Adam couldn’t do. 

 

So, finally, he caved. On a day off, Adam asked Henry if he would teach him how to dance. They spent the early morning practicing; some of the dances he recognized and could pick up decently enough, like the Charleston, while others he decided too difficult to learn. (Specifically one Henry called the Black Bottom, which was wonderfully entertaining to watch, but painful to recreate.) After lunch, Adam begged Henry to teach him a few swing moves, so by the time they reached the club that evening, Adam felt confident enough in his skills to ask Ronan to dance.

 

He didn’t work up the courage until two hours into the night. Ronan was watching Noah and Henry dance, as usual, when Adam blurted, “Do you want to dance?”

 

Ronan looked to Adam, brow furrowed in such a way that Adam wasn’t sure if he was confused or annoyed. “I don’t like dancing.”

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“Do I  _ look _ like I dance?”

 

Adam paused. “Well, not really. But-- I thought--”

 

Ronan’s lips widened and he ran his tongue across his teeth, grinning. “Parrish, was that your big, grand plan to seduce me?”

 

“Maybe.” Adam looked away. “Yes.”

 

Ronan leaned his chin on his palm, his smile turning from devious to something… almost sweeter, if Adam allowed himself to hope. 

 

“You still want to know my vice?” Ronan asked. 

 

“Desperately.”

 

Ronan looked to Noah and Henry. The music had slowed significantly and the pair were attempting a waltz. Neither could do it, apparently, but they were attempting it in dramatic fashion. Henry spun Noah before dipping him back, both laughing at the absurdity of their dance moves.

 

“I can’t show you here,” Ronan said. “I think they’ll be okay on their own. Want to go on an adventure, Adam?”

 

* * *

 

 

The adventure turned out to be a trip to the outside street. By now Paris was rather empty, filled only with the occasional passing car and connoisseurs of the city’s late night scene. Ronan pressed his hand on Adam’s lower back, leaned into his ear, and whispered, “This way. But be quiet.”

 

Ronan darted down the road, head swiveling in every direction. He stopped in front of a car. Curious, Adam bent down to inspect it. He ran his hand along the white wheels, then down the golden rims, before he stood back up and peeked above it. There was no top to the car and inside it were leather seats. 

 

“Holy shit, I think this is a Model T Ford,” Adam breathed. 

 

Ronan hummed. “You know your cars.”

 

“You could say that.” Ronan’s eyes were trained on him, and sensing he wanted more, Adam added, “I fixed cars. For a living. Back, uh, home.”

 

Ronan breathed in deep and quick. He then cleared his throat and gestured to the car, looking away. “That’s it. My vice.”

 

“I’m not sure beautiful cars are a vice, unless you have fifty of them hidden away somewhere.”

 

Ronan checked over his shoulder, looking pleased to see the street was momentarily empty. He slid up to the car, back pressed to the door, before suddenly catapulting himself over it and into the seat. Ronan shifted to the passenger seat and curled his finger toward Adam. “Come on in, Parrish.”

 

“Is this your car?”

 

Ronan merely grinned, all tooth. 

 

Adam rushed to the edge of the car, panicked, and hissed, “Are you kidding me?  _ You cannot sit in a stranger’s car!”  _

 

“I’m not going to  _ sit _ in it,” Ronan said. He bent down beneath the steering wheel and rooted around. A minute later, the car suddenly jumped to life, horrifically loud in the quiet streets.  _ “We _ are going to go for a little joyride.”

 

“Absolutely not. I’m not stealing a car with you, that’s insane.”

 

Ronan leaned back into the seat of the car and threw one arm over the edge. He ran his knuckles across his lips and it almost hid his smile. Ronan kept Adam’s gaze while he said, “Come on, Parrish. I dare you.”

 

Adam lost his breath.

 

_ I dare you. _

 

This was cruel. 

 

_ I dare you. _

 

He hated the universe a little bit more. For taunting him. For giving him exactly what he wanted but packaged in wrapping he couldn’t understand. For forcing him to  _ steal a fucking car. _

 

“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t want to drive one of these beauties?”

 

Adam caved. Because of course.

 

“Fine. But unlock the door, I’m not jumping over it,” Adam muttered. Ronan leaned across the seat to let him in, and wore a disgustingly proud smile once Adam placed his hands on the wheel. “I hope you know this is insane.”

 

“You mentioned.”

 

“We could go to jail,” Adam said, shifting the car into gear and pulling into the street. 

 

Ronan flicked his wrist, “We’ll be fine.”

 

Adam attempted to shift into second gear and almost stalled the car; it rumbled, clunking along, and Adam quickly shifted back to first and managed to save it. Ronan barked a laugh and earned himself a slap to his shoulder. It took Adam an embarrassing five minutes to get comfortable with the car - and even then,  _ comfortable _ was a polite description of his driving skills - but it took even less time for him to fall in love with this night.

 

It could have been the car. Adam spent ten years of his life surrounded by cars - BMWs and Subarus and Hondas galore - but there was something about getting his hands on an ultimate classic. This was one of the first cars _ever._ Or it could also have been the evening. It was perfectly quiet, other than the hum of the engine and the wind cutting along the edge of the car. A summer night that wasn’t sticky hot, just cool and magnetic. Or maybe it was Ronan, acting like _his_ Ronan. He had closed his eyes and tipped his head back, one hand out the window, fingers dragging through the air.

 

It was magic. 

 

And then a police car came into view.

 

“Fuck.  _ Fuck!” _ Adam slapped Ronan on the shoulder once, then a bit harder when Ronan didn’t open his eyes. “Seriously, Ro-- Rémi, what the fuck am I going to do if they pull us over?”

 

Ronan shrugged, “I’ll just tell them it’s my car.”

 

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not  _ that _ charming!”

 

Ronan sighed dramatically, eyes slitting open. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, twisting it around his finger. “Then it’s a good thing it’s actually my car.”

 

The words took a moment to sink in, long enough for the police car to pass by without so much as sparing them a glance. Adam slowed the car to a stop, put it in neutral, and spit,  _ “What?” _

 

Ronan smiled cheekily. “You should see your face.”

 

Adam wanted to wring Ronan’s neck. Instead, he spun in his seat until he could kick his legs up, then shoved his feet into Ronan’s thighs harmlessly. Ronan laughed, loud and carefree, and the sight of it almost made Adam forgive him. Almost.

 

“Is this your vice? Playing  _ stupid, dirty tricks? _ ” Each word earned Ronan another small shove.

 

Ronan grabbed one of Adam’s legs by the ankle and held it up. He seemed as if he were inspecting Adam’s sock. (Argyle. A gift from Henry.) “Something like that.”

 

The feel of Ronan’s fingers on his skin, even clothed, sent a shiver up Adam’s back. It was ridiculous, he wasn’t in a romance novel set in the Victorian era. Still, he pulled back his foot and sat upright, clearing his throat. “You’re the worst.”

 

“I’m  _ fun. _ ” Ronan had set his arm along the back of the car seat, and his fingers brushed against Adam’s neck. “Drive a bit more. Back to your hotel.”

 

Adam tried to ignore Ronan’s presence, finger light and hardly making contact, the entire ride home. Ronan had to be fucking with him, teasing him on purpose. Adam’s breath was embarrassingly uneven by the time he pulled up to his hotel, and a touch to his ear made Adam’s foot slip off the clutch, killing it instantly. The car lurched, yet Ronan’s arm stayed firmly where it was. 

 

Ronan didn’t kick him out of his car. They waited, the air thick with their unsaid words. 

 

Adam swallowed. He tilted his head just enough to catch Ronan’s eyes and said, “You trying to invite yourself over?”

 

This time, Ronan’s fingers deliberately twisted the hair at Adam’s neck. He didn’t answer the question. Adam felt desperately hot in the cool of the night. 

 

“You could come up,” Adam said, his voice almost unrecognizable to his own ear. Breathy and timid, a little scared.

 

Ronan’s hand slipped away. “I can’t.”

 

Adam ducked his head, desperate to hide the embarrassment that tinted his cheeks. He cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, I didn’t mean-- And someone might see us, or… something.”

 

He heard the breath leave Ronan, a long and tired exhale. Adam chanced a look at him, surprised to see that Ronan had once again shut his eyes. He looked almost pained, but definitely tired. 

 

“If it were that simple, Parrish, I’d have taken you the moment I saw you.”

  
It was deja vu, except worse. Adam had been here before; he’d had this exact conversation with Ronan, years ago, one that left his heart both overwhelmed and broken. He’d sat side-by-side next to a boy who didn’t allow himself to have what he deserved, while Adam waited in want. 

 

But if Ronan wasn’t ready, it wouldn’t work. Adam knew that lesson all too well.

 

Resigned to going home alone, Adam opened the car door and stepped out, legs shaking as they hit the ground. Ronan caught Adam by the wrist, ran his thumb across his vein, and said, “I want to see you tomorrow. Come to the club.”

 

Adam wanted to lean over the doorframe and press his lips to Ronan’s. 

 

Instead he slipped his hand from Ronan’s grasp.

 

* * *

 

 

Things with Ronan may have been progressing slowly, but life was anything but boring. It was calling out sick and taking a day trip to Versailles with Noah, biking through the gardens and napping under willows when the summer heat was too much. It was moving in with Henry in Montmartre, sleeping on a shitty sofa but within a few feet from a cafe where they drank espresso and watched Parisians walk by. It was teaching Noah, Henry, and Ronan the game of  _ Truth or Dare,  _ laughing at Ronan’s love for putting everyone in compromising situations.

 

The dares were not inventive or clever, but somehow no one cared. In the course of one evening the following had occurred: Noah jumped on the band’s stage and danced the foxtrot in front of the entire club, Henry had to wear his outfit backwards the entire night, and perhaps Adam’s favorite dare, Ronan had to see how many times he could get an overbearing admirer to buy him a drink, despite always handing his drink off to Noah or Henry as the guy watched in confusion. (It happened four times before the guy gave up.  _ Four times.) _

 

The free drinks left Noah and Henry quite buzzed, so Adam wasn’t surprised when the conversation turned lewd. 

 

“America,” Noah whispered. Well, calling it a whisper was generous; his voice wasn’t quiet in the slightest, simply hissed. “Truth or truth: when was the last time you gave a frenchie?”

 

The question broke Henry into hysteric giggles, while Ronan muttered, “Oh, God.” 

 

Adam thought it cute that Noah’s version of a scandalous question was asking about French kissing. He was, you know,  _ an adult, _ so most kisses included tongue, so he thought back to the last time he’d kissed someone - a girl he’d gone on a few dates with named Liz - and said, “Give or take two months ago, I think.”

  
It earned more giggling from Henry and Noah. Ronan, on the other hand, quickly reached for his water glass. Before he took a sip Adam heard him mumble, “Jesus.” Then, seeing Adam’s eyes on him, Ronan said, “Next subject.”

 

Noah disagreed. He leaned forward and asked, “What was he like?”

 

“Who?”

 

“The guy you…” Instead of saying the word, Noah wagged his eyebrows.

 

“Oh. It was a girl. She was nice.” Adam was met with looks of confusion from every person at the table. “What?”

 

Henry cried, “You can’t give a frenchie to a bird!”

 

_ Oh.  _ Something wasn’t right. Clearly they were suffering from a classic time-travel miscommunication, and based on the context, Adam had a feeling he knew what they meant. “Is a frenchie a blow job?”

 

“I am not sure what a blow job is, America, but there is certainly no blowing involved! Quite the opposite!” At Noah’s joke, Henry rested his forehead on Noah’s shoulder to laugh along with him. It seemed to spur Noah on. He continued, words starting to slur from his buzz, “So, in America, you do not call it a frenchie. That’s okay. When did you last give a  _ blow job? _ ”

 

“Czerny, if you can’t hold your liquor then you shouldn’t drink so much,” Ronan snapped. 

 

“No need to get in a lather,” Henry muttered, head twisting from Noah’s shoulder to gaze up at his crush. He whispered something in Noah’s ear, making Noah giggle, then said loudly to the whole group, “Let’s go dance. They’re no fun.”

 

Once they had stumbled off to the dancefloor Adam said, “Thanks.”

 

Ronan grunted. He tilted his glass on its edge. Adam watched the motion, knowing by now it was a nervous gesture. 

 

“It, uh, it’s been awhile. Since I…” Adam coughed. “Gave a  _ frenchie. _ Or got one, for that matter.”

 

“Not my business,” Ronan muttered.

 

“I just thought you should know that it’s not, like, something I do all the time.” When Ronan rolled his eyes at this, Adam quickly added, “It’s a special thing to me, too.”

 

“Congratulations, you’re not a virgin. Welcome to the club.”

 

“You’re not-- You mean you’ve had  _ sex _ ?”

 

Ronan placed his hand on his heart, “Keep your voice down, what if my mother hears?”

 

“Don’t be an ass. I just thought--”

 

“That I was a virgin?” Ronan snorted. “Just because I won’t fuck  _ you _ doesn’t mean I’ve never done it.”

 

Adam clenched his drink, and when that wasn’t enough, his jaw followed. It was moments like this that made Adam wonder what he was doing in Paris. Wondered what the universe wanted from him. This Ronan -  _ Rémi - _ didn’t seem to like Adam half the time. Was he just wasting his time, chasing the taste of of a drink long gone?

 

“Tell Henry I went home,” Adam said.

 

Ronan let him leave.

 

* * *

 

 

Adam woke to a loud knock at the door later that night. He pulled himself off the couch, yelling through the door that he was coming to what he assumed was a drunken Henry. Instead, he found Ronan leaning against the door frame.

 

Adam crossed his arms, hiding his bare chest. “What do you want?”

 

Ronan bit the edge of his thumb. “Truth or truth, Parrish.”

 

Adam wanted to tell him to go away. It was late - past midnight - and he’d finally fallen asleep after an hour of stewing. He also didn’t want to be half-naked in front of Ronan, not when he’d been so ruthlessly cut down hours earlier.

 

But Ronan didn’t make house-calls, and he was staring at Adam, nervous but still stunning. And Adam would do anything for him. 

 

Adam sighed. “Truth.”

 

“You’ve met me before,” Ronan said. It wasn’t a question. “I remind you of someone.”

 

Adam exhaled. “Yes.”

 

Ronan didn’t look away. “You have a secret.”

 

This time, Adam didn’t breathe at all. When he didn’t answer, Ronan left.

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t discuss Ronan’s midnight visit, and the absolute silence made Adam wonder if he dreamt it. But after that night Ronan had pulled away, becoming distant and moody, and Adam knew the whole night was to blame. He should have brushed off Ronan’s questions, found a way to make a joke of it all. 

 

But Adam didn’t want to lie to Ronan. 

 

Being friends with Henry and Noah ensured that he’d still see Ronan most days, though. The two insisted on hanging out, and by the end of the week, Adam understood why. He had gotten to the club late - having gotten distracted by exploring a new section of the city and because, okay, he didn’t see the point of rushing to the club when Ronan just ignored him all night - and saw Noah and Henry on the dancefloor as usual. Adam allowed himself a drink to celebrate his personal pity party, and by the time he turned around from the bar, Noah and Henry were no longer dancing. But they hadn’t left the dance floor.

 

Noah was on the tips of his toes, one hand cupping the back of Henry’s neck as he kissed him. Henry hardly moved, except to curl his fingers slowly into Noah’s shirt.

 

Adam turned away. It was sweet, so sweet. 

 

But Adam wanted to throw his drink across the room.

 

So he abandoned his drink on the counter and left the club. 

 

He spent two days hating Henry for getting what he wanted and two days hating himself for being petty and jealous. It was better he avoid the club. When he got a handle on his emotions he returned, practicing his excuse for his absence. His effort was in vain, though. Henry and Noah were too busy making out in the booth to notice his arrival. 

 

Adam was stunned, momentarily, at the sudden jump in kissing prowess. Gone was the tentative kiss he saw on the dance floor; now, it was lips moving slow and languid, the sudden slip of a tongue, hands reaching under clothes.

 

“Oh,” Adam said.

 

Ronan had moved himself to the far edge of the booth, his back toward the couple, arms folded and one leg crossed over the other. When he heard Adam’s outburst he turned, actually looking pleased to see Adam for once, and yelled, “Okay, Parrish is here, bank’s closed!” 

 

Noah held up his finger, as if asking for a minute, and did not stop kissing Henry. Ronan swiveled his head to Adam, clearly perturbed, and said, “They’ve been doing this for the past two days. It’s disgusting.”

 

Henry turned to Ronan, annoyed. Noah took advantage of the new angle to kiss Henry’s neck, while the latter said, “Jealousy does not look good on you, Monsieur. If you want some, you have a perfectly kissable man ready and waiting.”

 

Adam and Ronan looked away from each other at the same time. Needing to focus on something else, Adam excused himself to get a drink. Surprisingly, Ronan jumped up after him and followed.

 

“They’re going to do that all night,” Ronan said.

 

“So find somewhere else to sit.”

 

“But that’s  _ my _ table.”

 

“You’re hopeless.”

 

Adam leaned across the bar to gesture for the bartender’s attention. Ronan reached for his wrist, tugging it down, and said, “No. You’re coming with me.”

 

“Where?”   
  


“Anywhere but here,” Ronan said. He tugged Adam back through the club in a hurry, accidentally knocking a woman into the arms of another. When the two women stared at each other, looking dazed at the sudden connection, Ronan groaned. “God, it’s everywhere.”

 

It was misting lightly outside the club. Ronan gazed at the sky with disdain but pulled Adam down the sidewalk regardless. Wednesday nights weren’t a busy time for Parisians and most were already at home, leaving the cobblestoned streets mostly empty. 

 

“Where are we going?” Adam asked.

 

“I needed air.”

 

Adam pulled his jacket closer to his body. “Then can I go back inside? It’s cold, and I’m not in the mood to get rained on.”

 

“No. I need you.” Ronan cleared his throat. “To entertain me.”

 

Adam wished he wasn’t so stupidly attracted to Ronan. But he was a fool for wishing anything when it came to Ronan, not when it was all so clearly out of his control. The only act of defiance he could manage was to walk in the opposite direction, knowing Ronan would follow if he was truly desperate. 

 

Ronan was truly desperate. 

 

“How long before they get bored of it, you think?” Adam stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and shrugged. At his silence, Ronan leaned his body into Adam and said, “Hey.”

 

_ “What?” _

 

“You’re supposed to be entertaining me.”

 

“I’m not in the mood.”

 

Ronan scoffed. He did an immature and poor imitation of Adam under his breath, which Adam pointedly ignored. Adam didn’t know why Ronan was so upset - if it was jealousy or repressed sexuality or, hell, just Ronan being Ronan. Adam didn’t feel like figuring it out.

 

They walked in silence as the rain picked up. Annoyed, Adam slipped off his jacket and held it over his head to shield the rain. As if he sensed Adam’s departure coming, Ronan picked at an open wound.

 

“I thought you wanted me,” Ronan said. “You’re not acting like it.”

 

Adam’s coat slipped from his fingers and to the ground, too stunned by the audacity of Ronan’s comment. Adam bent down to retrieve his coat, his fury growing when he realized how quickly the water had seeped into it. He threw his coat at Ronan and said, “Fuck you.”

 

_ “Excuse me?” _

 

There was a couple walking across the street, umbrellas out, watching Ronan and Adam with narrowed eyes. Adam turned his back to them and hissed, “You know, Ronan, if you weren’t interested in me it’d be one thing. You’re allowed not to, even if the whole world is trying to force it. But I’m not your plaything. You don’t get to tell me you want me and then treat me like shit.”

 

Rain was dripping down Ronan’s face, a drop catching on his lips. In a low voice he asked, “Ronan?”

 

_ Fuck. _ He’d slipped up. Adam swallowed, throat painful, and looked away.

 

Ronan cast a look over his shoulder at the couple. When it was clear they were still watching, he grabbed Adam by the forearm and pulled him further down the sidewalk. When they passed an alley, Ronan backtracked and gestured for Adam to follow him in. As soon as the alley hid them away, Ronan directed Adam to stand with his back to the wall, putting a good five feet between them. 

 

“You’re such--” Ronan pulled a hand through his hair, the rain sticking it straight. “Why do you have to do this to me?”

 

Adam didn’t have an answer, and it didn’t matter anyway. Ronan crossed the divide, pressing his whole body to Adam, and kissed him. Adam reacted instinctively, hands digging into Ronan’s hair to pull him even closer, mouth opening to taste him fully. Ronan’s tongue was warm and the touch was an instant shock to Adam’s system. Their mouths moved and their bodies writhed and, distantly, Adam felt this was wrong, that kissing Ronan should be gentle and sweet. But all thoughts left him when Ronan shoved his thigh between Adam’s legs. Adam broke the kiss to release a ragged breath. 

 

Ronan left his leg where it was, but he didn’t kiss him again. His voice was rough, almost angry, when he said, “You can’t just show up and act like it’s the same.”

 

Adam was breathless and confused and aching for Ronan to move his leg or leave him be. He couldn’t stay stagnant anymore. “The same as  _ what?” _

 

“Like-- Like I’m  _ him!” _ Ronan stepped back and Adam’s body crumpled against the wall, the shock of everything hitting him all at once. “I’m not  _ him.  _ You’re chasing after someone who isn’t there anymore. _ ” _

 

Adam wanted to say,  _ But you are! _ but how could he explain what Ronan meant to him? Ronan thought himself just a rebound, or a replacement. 

 

“It’s not what you think,” Adam said. He was trembling, the rain and the kiss and the revelations too much, and his words came out garbled. “I’m not-- It’s not that I think you’re  _ him, _ not… exactly. It’s hard to explain.”

 

Ronan looked away. “You…” He pressed his palm to his forehead and cursed. “This isn’t right.You’re cold and there’s people everywhere. We can’t-- We can’t do this here.”

 

“But we need to talk about this!”

 

“I know, I know.” Ronan drug his hand down his face. “I don’t live far. Let’s go to my place and, fuck, I don’t know.  _ Talk.” _

 

Ronan snuck out of the alley first, gesturing for Adam to wait. When no one was looking he slipped out, and they quickly made their way to Ronan’s flat. Adam had never been there before and was surprised to notice they were tracking back to the club, and for a moment, he worried Ronan would abandon him there. Instead, Ronan took a staircase on the side of the building and began climbing, eventually leading Adam to a landing several floors up. Ronan unlocked the red door. 

 

Ronan’s apartment was empty. There were no paintings, no books, no decor at all. There was a small kitchen table and a sofa in the main room, but Ronan brushed past it to a back room. “Give me a minute.” 

 

Adam found the bathroom while Ronan kept to himself. His clothes were beyond saving - drenching from trekking through the rain - but he stole a towel to dry off his hair. His thick hair, as usual, stood awkward and straight, and he used his fingers to comb it down. 

 

When he left, Ronan was back in the kitchen wearing dry clothes. In his hands were slacks and a shirt, which he tossed at Adam. Ronan jerked his head to his bedroom and said, “You can borrow these for tonight. Go change before you drip out on my floor.”

 

Adam twisted the clothes in his hand. “Then we’ll talk?”

 

“There isn’t much to talk about,” Ronan warned. His eyes raked over Adam quickly, so fast he barely registered it. “I can’t look at you like this. Go change.”

 

Adam backed into Ronan’s room, kicking the door shut with his foot. It was a struggle to get out of his clothes, sticky from the rain, but soon he had folded them in a pile on the ground. He tugged on the top - just a simple t-shirt - and found it irritating that the pants Ronan gave him were far too big. They fell off his hips, just as they did all those years ago. 

 

Not wanting to deal with his pants constantly falling down, and  _ definitely _ unwilling to walk around in his boxers, Adam opened the drawers to Ronan’s dresser to search for something smaller. (What he wouldn’t give for a pair of sweats, or God,  _ pajama pants. _ They sounded blissfully comfortable.)

 

“What are you doing in there?” Ronan yelled through the wall.

 

Adam pulled open another drawer, but it was all shirts. He moved to the the next one. “Your pants are too big! I’m trying to find something smaller.”

 

Ronan suddenly knocked on the door, his voice sharp as he said, “Parrish. Don’t go through my shit.”

 

“Why? Got some dirty magazines hidden inside?” Adam wasn’t even sure if magazines were a thing yet, but he figured the joke would still land. He wasn’t sure why Ronan was freaking out. The last drawer only had a few pairs of slacks, some long underwear, and oddly enough, several books. Adam picked one up to inspect it but it was in a language he didn’t recognize it.

 

Ronan suddenly opened the door, face furious. Adam was still crouched at the ground and he cringed, hoping Ronan didn’t ask about his unusual underwear. When Ronan saw him inside his drawer he stilled.

 

Adam tried to divert the attention away. “Is this book so embarrassing you have to keep it hidden away? Is it the Kama Sutra? Nevermind, you probably don’t know what that is…”

 

“Just-- Get out.” When Adam didn’t move, Ronan barked, “Get out!”

 

Adam flinched. “Jesus, okay.” He placed the book back in the drawer, resigned to wearing Ronan’s too large pants, when his eyes caught on something else. Ronan, either noticing his sudden curiosity or finally losing his cool, lunged forward to stop Adam.

 

He wasn’t fast enough. Adam grabbed for the balled up, red object, pulling it easily from underneath the books, and stepped back. Ronan stilled immediately. Adam unraveled the soft, red cotton from his hands, knowing what it was from touch alone, but needing to see the words all the same.

 

_ Coca Cola. _

 

Adam stared at it, hands trembling. This was his shirt.  _ This was his shirt. _ A shirt he hadn’t seen in years, not since he left it under--

 

His brain turned the idea over and over. 

 

“What the hell is this?” He asked. Ronan didn’t respond, and his silence angered Adam further. “How do you-- How do you have this?”

 

Ronan licked his lip. “Adam--”

 

“Did someone give this to you?” Adam pressed forward, holding the shirt out to Ronan and crowding his space. Ronan refused to meet his gaze. “What’s your last name? Are you-- Are you related to him? Is Ronan your dad or your-- What the hell?”

 

Ronan reached for the shirt, clasping it over Adam’s hand. “No.”

 

“What do you mean  _ ‘No’? _ This is my shirt, you have to tell me how you got this--”

 

_ “No,” _ Ronan repeated, looking Adam in the eye finally. He was shaking. “No, he’s not my father. No, I’m not related to him.”

 

“Then how do you have my shirt?  _ How do you have my fucking shirt? _ ”

 

_ “Adam.” _ Ronan leaned his forehead against Adam’s shoulder, his low breaths the only sound in the room. It was a gesture so familiar to Adam, so simple and sweet and something  _ his _ Ronan did, and--   
  


In a quiet voice, Ronan said, “I found it under my bed and I couldn’t get myself to throw it away. It was the only thing I had to remind me of you.”

 

Adam thought he was dreaming. 

 

_ Ronan. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, you can't be mad at me because I gave you kissing in this chapter, right? 
> 
> Quiz question: what's Ronan's real vice? ;) 
> 
> I apologize for not getting back to reviews last chapter, I didn't have quite enough time since I updated early. But please know all the comments, kudos, Tweets, and etc. make my day! I'll try to do better this time!


	9. The Place You Thought You Knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations! You finally get to know the answer to the big mystery. Are you ready?

_After graduating college, avoiding Gansey was difficult. Adam never actively sought him out, but where there was Blue, there was Gansey. By this point Blue had finished community college and had been accepted to West Virginia University to study Environmental Sciences, and was finally moving out of her mother’s house. She’d wrangled Adam into helping her move, offering free pizza in exchange for heavy lifting, and it had lulled Adam into thinking Gansey was busy or something. Surely, if not, Gansey would have been gifted the task of carrying her heavier furniture._

 

_When he hissed this to her later, Blue just looked at Gansey, then back at Adam, and said, “As if either of you could lift my dresser on your own. Please.”_

 

_“You could help,” Adam countered._

 

 _Blue held out her hand to Adam, displaying a set of newly painted nails. “What, and ruin my manicure?” It might have been a believable excuse if said by anyone_ other _than Blue Sargent, who never once let Adam even open a door for her. The stupid, satisfied smirk that edged its way onto her lips didn’t help, either. This was her plan all along._

 

_So Gansey and Adam spent most of the morning carrying her bed, couch, and dressers down to the moving truck. Blue kept herself busy by sorting through old mementos. Gansey and Adam were taking a lunch break when Blue cackled loudly._

 

_“Adam!” She waved a letter at him. “Look! It’s an old love letter you wrote after our first date!”_

 

_Gansey frowned as he bit into his pizza, and Adam wasn’t sure if he was displeased by what Blue found or if he simply didn’t like the pizza. He didn’t seem like the sort of person who would enjoy greasy, Nino’s pizza._

 

_“Please light it on fire,” Adam muttered._

 

_“No way, this is golden!” Blue cleared her throat and lowered her pitch. “Dear Blue, I was wondering if you’d--”_

 

_Adam lept from the floor to stop her from reading the note, but Blue rolled out of the way in time. She climbed onto Gansey’s lap for safety, forcing Gansey to hold the pizza above his head to avoid grease dripping onto her dress._

 

_“Seriously, Blue?”_

 

_“Jane,” Gansey said, voice stern. “Adam doesn’t want you to read it.”_

 

 _This was extremely true, but Adam couldn’t help the bitter part of his brain from thinking,_ I doubt _you_ want to hear it either. _Blue looked up from the paper to grin at Adam._

 

_“Adam, it’s so cute, though.”_

 

_“Don’t you think it’s a bad idea to read a letter from your ex-boyfriend in front of your current boyfriend?” Adam muttered._

 

_“There’s nothing really to be jealous of, honestly. This is--” Blue paused, biting her lip to hide a grin. “I love you, Adam, but this is the worst love letter I’ve ever seen. And it’s so endearing.”_

 

_Gansey sighed. “Jane. You’re not being very nice.”_

 

_She ignored him. “Adam, you told me, and I quote, ‘Blue, I really like hanging out with you. I would like to do it again.’ That’s it. You were lucky you were so cute, Adam, because this is the least convincing love letter I’ve ever seen.”_

 

_“Whatever. You knew how I felt.”_

 

_Blue’s smile turned wistful as she hopped off Gansey’s lap. She folded the letter and tucked it back into the box where she found it. “I didn’t, though. Not always. You’re a hard guy to read sometimes, Adam.”_

 

_Gansey was watching them both carefully. Adam avoided his gaze, hating that Gansey saw proof of one of Adam’s many weaknesses. To his credit, Gansey picked up on the sudden tension and said, “Adam, ready to tackle Blue’s sewing table? I’m sure it’s light enough for one of us to carry, but since it’s an antique, better to be careful…”_

 

* * *

 

Adam was familiar with secrets. He collected them throughout his life like tokens, cashing them in when they were useful, but almost _always_ storing them for later. A carefully kept secret could be powerful.

 

Ronan had secrets too, it seemed, and they put Adam’s to shame.

 

Later, Adam regretted his reaction to finding out Ronan’s secret. Had he accepted Ronan in welcome arms, maybe Ronan’s anger would have been curbed sooner. Or, hell, he wished he’d reacted better just to be a better person. Instead, Adam jumped away from Ronan, tripping over himself as he scrambled away. Adam backed up until he couldn’t any longer, running into the wall of Ronan’s bedroom.

 

“What the fuck?” Adam whispered. “How is this possible? You look the same. You’re--”

 

Ronan winced. “Does it matter?”

 

“It’s been fifty years since I saw you and you look the exact same, Ronan, I think it fucking matters!” Adam’s brain was spinning, trying to come up with some explanation while also reexamining every interaction they’d ever had.

 

“It doesn’t _matter_ because you must know already.” Ronan gestured to his body. “We’re obviously the same. It’s not like you aged, either.”

 

“Oh, we are _not_ the same,” Adam said.

 

It came out harsher than he intended, and unsurprisingly, Ronan looked away. He kept pursing his lips, looking as if he was about to say something and biting his tongue. Adam wanted to change the subject, to get that expression off Ronan’s face, so he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I just-- I definitely age.”

 

Ronan’s eyes looked to him quickly, confusion evident. It was the perfect time to explain his time travel, but Adam didn’t want to distract from the topic at hand. He wanted answers. _Now._

 

“How does it work?” Adam’s adrenaline was starting to settle and so he pushed himself away from the wall, edging just a little closer to Ronan. He wanted to look at him again, look for some sort of hint that Ronan was older than he appeared. “You look just like you did back in London. Or-- wait, does this mean-- Was that you on the farm, too? Why didn’t you say something in London about it?”

 

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. He took a tentative step toward Adam, hands raised in surrender, and said, “What farm?”

 

“The farm! The farm in Ireland, in 1835!”

 

Ronan sucked in a quick breath. He didn’t answer at first, but his eyes shook and darted around the room in obvious thought. Eventually Ronan said, “I did… live on a farm in Ireland. Around then. But how do you know that?”

 

“Uhh, because I _met_ you?” Ronan’s face didn’t show any reaction. To jog his memory, Adam added, “It was the first time I went back, I was sixteen. You let me stay in your house. I helped with the chickens!”

 

Ronan lifted a hand to his head, scratching it as he shrugged. It earned him an automatic groan of frustration from Adam, to which he said, “People were always coming and going back then! And fuck, that was over a hundred years ago. Do you really _want_ me to remember some fucking kid who showed up at my door for one day?”

 

Adam knew he had a point, but the idea that his visit that day left Ronan with literally _no_ reaction hit a wound he didn’t even know he had. Adam had spent years of his life thinking about that day… _pining_ over it, arguably. It wasn’t like he expected Ronan to have been as struck with Adam as Adam was with him, because _yeah,_ the age difference made that suspect, but _to not remember him at all?_

 

“You just seemed surprised by me,” Adam muttered. “When you took me back through the forest--”

 

 _This_ caught Ronan’s attention. He crowded Adam, suddenly, pushing him back to the wall. For a brief, ridiculous moment, Adam wondered if Ronan would kiss him again. It would have been terrible timing, and Adam was acutely aware he wasn’t wearing pants, but… He would take another kiss. _Especially_ a kiss like the one from before.

 

Instead, Ronan lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “You know about Cabeswater?”  


“Cabeswater?”

 

“You said you went through the forest.” Ronan’s eyes gazed away in thought before snapping back to Adam. He used his thumb and forefinger to cup Adam’s chin, turning his head side to side slowly.

 

This was not the time to be thinking about kissing Ronan.

 

But Adam was definitely thinking about kissing Ronan.

 

“I think I--” Ronan pursed his lips. “I think I remember you now. Not _you_ specifically, but-- I told my father what happened and he panicked. Almost made us move again, but then you never came back. I’d forgotten. I thought it was Cabeswater just... Did you-- Did you come through it again?”

 

Ronan’s fingers were still on his chin and Adam’s eyes fluttered closed in appreciation of the sensation. “That’s always how it happens. The forest appears on my side and I walk through it and find you.”

 

“Always?”

 

He could feel Ronan’s thumb brush against his bottom lip. Adam shuddered a breath and slid his eyes open. Ronan’s half-lidded eyes were trained on Adam’s lips and it soothed Adam to know he wasn’t the only insatiable one in room.

 

When Adam leaned forward, however, Ronan took a step back. He cleared his throat and busied himself with his dresser, shutting the drawers Adam had opened. “What do you mean _your_ side?”

 

For a ridiculous moment Adam wondered whether he could withhold the information as a bargaining chip. _An answer for one kiss._ It was an irrational thought that he knew wouldn’t be nearly as charming on Ronan’s end, so instead Adam focused on how best to explain his predicament.

 

“You know how you always make fun of me for the weird things I say?” Adam asked. Ronan snorted, which Adam took as confirmation to continue. “It’s because those things hadn’t been invented in your time yet. Toilets and toothpaste and showers...all that stuff is common in my time.”

 

“And what time is that?”

 

Adam blew his bangs out of his eyes. “Uhh, well, right now it’s 2016.”

 

Ronan fell into silence and Adam allowed it to linger. He could _see_ Ronan’s brain processing Adam’s secret on his face. He didn’t blame him. Though Ronan was clearly familiar with magic, time travel was complicated. Adam could comprehend immortality because it was a commonly explored topic in his life; maybe it wasn’t _documented_ , but he’d seen enough horrible movies to understand the basic concept. Even time-travel was easier to for him to grasp, having grown up with _Back to the Future_ and the like. But Ronan was coming from a place of nothing.

 

Eventually, Ronan left the room for the kitchen, where he began to warm a tea kettle on the stove. Adam lingered in Ronan’s room, staring down at his boxers with disdain, before he gave up and left the room. There was a blanket draped over Ronan’s couch. Adam took it, wrapped it around himself, and sunk into the seat.

 

“Do you have any questions?” Adam asked. Immediately he winced. It sounded so lame in the silence of the room.

 

Ronan placed his hands on the counter and leaned against it, exhaling a long breath through his nose. “Thousands. And yet I can’t think of a single one to ask.”

 

Adam waited until Ronan had poured them both a cup of tea to talk again. He sat opposite from Adam on a wicker chair. Once the steaming cup was in his possession, Adam pulled it toward him and asked, “So… Maybe you can tell me how it works for you?”

 

“It?”

 

“Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m talking about.”

 

Ronan took a sip of his tea. Adam watched his throat as he swallowed, admiring the curve of his Adam’s apple and the jut of his collarbone, barely concealed by his shirt.

 

“No.”

 

For a moment, Adam thought he was so engrossed in Ronan that he missed part of the conversation. He tilted his hearing ear toward Ronan and said, “Sorry?”

 

 _“No,”_ Ronan repeated. The clunk of his teacup being set on the wooden coffee table was the only sound in the room.

 

“You’re joking,” Adam said finally.

  
“‘Fraid not.”

 

“So you’re just going to drop this bomb on me, that you apparently haven’t aged in over a hundred years, and not offer any other explanation?” Adam stood up from the couch and pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

 

Ronan stayed seated, but his hands clenched tight around his teacup. “If you’re not like me then you don’t get to know.”

 

In retrospect, Adam should have noticed that Ronan’s demeanor, which up till then had been relatively calm considering the events that transpired, was starting to slip. That his words came out a little more clipped, a little more tense. Maybe Adam should have remembered that the evening started with an argument. That the kiss they shared was passionate, true, but passion was often the crossroads of lust and rage.

 

But he wanted an explanation desperately, and when you told Adam Parrish he would never get what he wanted, he would stop at nothing to achieve it. So instead of giving Ronan space, he pushed.

 

“You owe me an explanation!”

  
And it quickly backfired.

  
“I _owe_ you? Are you fucking with me, Adam? I don’t owe you _anything.”_ Ronan pushed himself up from his seat and loomed over Adam. Each word was shot like a bullet, aimed at Adam’s heart. “Don’t you get it, now? How fucked up this is? Fifty years ago you met a broken boy. An alcoholic who spent half his days mourning his father and the other half hating himself. And then you showed up and you-- You made life bearable for a bit.

 

“And then you left. I thought you might come back. I even waited. But you didn’t. _You never fucking came back.”_

 

Adam had to look away. Ronan’s gaze was too heated, too hateful. He stuttered, “I couldn’t-- I _tried_ to come back, but the forest wasn’t _there,_ okay? I don’t even know why it showed up now, after three years.”

 

“Fine. Maybe you couldn’t. That’s not even the issue here.”

 

Ronan dragged a hand through his hair, as if it might help calm him down to take a minute to pause. It was worse, in a way. Adam could take rage, hell, he even understood it. He felt a similar pool of anger brewing inside him. But when Ronan spoke again his voice dropped lower and his tone steadied, and it made what he said more powerful. More honest.

 

“You show up fifty years later and act like no time has passed. You treat me like I’m the same person I was all those years ago. You try to just pick up where we left off.” Ronan’s hands were clenched at his side. “Maybe it’s only been a bit of time for you, but it’s been a hell of a lot longer for me. And you can’t expect me to just get over that.”

 

Adam’s mouth was dry. He was torn between the desire to defend himself and the sinking realization that, okay, this was more complicated than he realized. As a compromise, he settled with, “I didn’t know what was going on. I thought-- I just thought--”

 

 _“_ Thought _what?”_

 

“I thought it was fate or something. I don’t know!” Adam shut his eyes, embarrassed. It didn’t seem ridiculous when he was telling Blue, but admitting it to Ronan was ten times worse. When Ronan’s hard expression didn’t waver, Adam let it all loose, knowing that he couldn’t dig the hole any deeper. “When I first met you, at the farm, you were all I thought about. For _years._ And when I found you again in London and got to know you--”

 

“I was there, Adam, you don’t need to give me the report.” Back was the rage, apparently.

 

“No, but I do, I really do.” Things were spinning wildly out of control. No matter what he did or said, everything just made Ronan more angry. If Adam had more time to just fucking _breathe_ then maybe he could figure something out, something better than spilling his guts, but the idea of leaving the conversation where they were was unbearable.

 

Adam scraped his fingers down his face and took in a shaky breath. “I spent the last three years denying the way I felt about you. We only knew each other for a week, and I tried-- I convinced myself that it wasn’t real. That I was just obsessed with London or the time period or the amazing places you took me. But I have been chasing the feeling of being with you ever since, and nothing is ever good enough.

 

“No one could make me feel the way I did when I was with you. When I saw you again, here in Paris, all I knew is that I’d regret it if I didn’t talk to you. And I know that three years is nothing compared to fifty, I know it’s unfair, but every one of those years has been spent wanting you.”

 

Ronan said nothing in response. Instead, he took the two teacups from the table and brought them to the kitchen, depositing them in the sink. He waited there, staring out the small window above his sink, before he drew the curtain down. Adam watched as Ronan pulled the curtains closed in all of the front windows and locked the front door. Eventually, Ronan walked back to Adam and took the blanket from around his shoulders, folding it carefully before setting it back on the couch.

 

Adam knew it wasn’t the time to lose his temper, but an edge made its way into his voice when he asked, “What are you doing?”

 

“I’m trying very hard to remember that I’m mad at you.” Ronan exhaled a growl. “I’m trying really hard not to kiss you.”

 

Their eyes met. Adam whispered, “So be mad. Kiss me anyway.”

 

Ronan was easily convinced. He tugged Adam into his arms and back to his lips and Adam felt devoured. Ronan’s mouth was warm and brutal, his teeth pulling at Adam’s bottom lip until Adam opened up to him completely. Their tongues met and Adam felt instantly hot, unbearably hot, and he tugged at his shirt. Ronan’s hands made quick work of it, throwing his shirt somewhere across the room, before they were running across Adam’s collarbone and ribs and hip bones.

 

Ronan pulled back, panting, to look at Adam’s bare chest. As Ronan ran his thumb across the angles of his body, Adam stole kisses, whining when Ronan wouldn’t tear his gaze from his body. It was too much to be looked at like that and to be treated so gently. Adam pushed his lips against Ronan’s desperately, pleading a whispered _Ronan_ against his lips, until Ronan pushed him back onto the couch. He followed immediately, leg’s bracketing Adam to the couch.

 

They were kissing and kissing and kissing and Adam didn’t want to breathe, he just wanted Ronan to keep kissing him forever. His body had a mind of its own, though, and soon Adam was arching his hips up, needing even more touch, more friction. It seemed to shake Ronan to his senses.

 

“Fuck. _Fuck!”_ He was off Adam within seconds, hand running through his hair. His lips were red, red, _red_ and Adam wanted them back on his body. Anywhere. Everywhere.

 

“This is the exact thing I wanted to avoid,” Ronan snapped. He found Adam’s shirt hanging off the kitchen table and threw it at him. “You always do this. You distract me with the physical part--”

 

“Oh, right, because you had absolutely no part in it either.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Ronan said. His hair was a mess, stuck in every direction from both their hands. “Wanting each other physically doesn’t fix the problem here.”

 

“What _problem?”_ Adam sighed. He wasn’t being patient and he didn’t have the right to be annoyed, but he was suddenly unbelievably tired from the whiplash of emotions. “I don’t understand the issue. We both like each other, we should _be_ together.”

 

“No, _I_ like you. _You_ like someone who isn’t there anymore.” Ronan swallowed a shaky breath. “And he’s happy he’s gone.”

 

Ronan’s voice, somber and serious, curbed Adam’s annoyance like a cold shower. He ducked his head. “I don’t-- I don’t need the you from fifty years ago. I like the you from now.”

 

“You don’t even know me,” Ronan countered. Adam opened his mouth to protest but he was shushed by a wave of Ronan’s hand. “No, you don’t. You know things about me - all the shameful things I kept secret, and maybe a few of the good things - but you were right. We haven’t known each other that long. Kissing you feels good, really fucking good, but that’s not who I am. I don’t just-- I can’t exist on physicality alone.”

 

“I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit here,” Adam said. “I’ve been here over a month now and all we’ve done is talk. If it was just physical for me I would have gone home long ago.”

 

Ronan sighed. “Put your shirt on.”

 

As Adam tugged it over his head he said, “You know, if you insist that we have a problem, there’s a really simple solution.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“We can get to know one another.” Adam walked to Ronan and took a chance, linking his hand into his. Ronan did not deny him it. “Date.”

 

“Go on dates? Where? The club? It’s not a romantic place to me, not really.” Ronan’s words were bitter, but he kept dragging his thumb across the back of Adam’s hand and it felt like a promise.

 

“We can be careful.”

 

Ronan pressed the palm of his other free hand into his eye, rubbing it. He looked tired. If this were another world, Adam would wrap his arms around him or run a hand through his hair. Instead, he took a step back and gave him space.

 

“Just think about it?” Adam asked.

 

“I don’t need to think about it,” Ronan said. He rolled his eyes at Adam, though the gesture cried affection rather than actual annoyance. “The moment you walk out that door I will regret letting you out of my sight, even for just a minute. This was never about me, Adam. I may not drink anymore but I can’t resist a good self-destruction. You can court me, if you like, and in a month, when you realize I’m not what you want, I’ll figure out a way to keep existing. Like I always do.”

 

Adam was good with words, but in that moment, they left him completely. Anything he could think to say sounded naive at best and patronizing at worst. It didn’t matter anyway. Ronan was not a man of words but of actions, and there was nothing Adam _could_ say to prove his point. Logic was not the answer here. He just needed time.

 

So instead he cleared his throat and looked at his bare legs. “I’ll just go change back into my pants and I’ll leave.”

 

“No, you can stay here a bit. Let them dry a bit longer.” Ronan grabbed a coat and slipped into it. “I have some business I need to do at the club. Help yourself to what you need.”

 

Adam jumped across the room before Ronan could leave, blocking his path. When Ronan’s eyes narrowed Adam held up his hands in defense and said, “Just-- Hold on, you look-- Uh, well, you look like you’ve just had sex.”

 

Tentatively, Adam reached up to run a hand through Ronan’s hair, smoothing it down. Ronan sighed into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. When Adam was finished, Ronan caught his hand and held it to his lips, just for a moment.

 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Ronan said. He quickly left, leaving before Adam could catch his breath.

 

Adam didn’t realize until he was left in the quiet of Ronan’s apartment, his thoughts his only company, that he never got any answers. Ronan may have been justified in his anger, but he’d kept his secret safe.

 

* * *

 

 

If they were in his time, Adam would know exactly how to date Ronan. Adam Parrish had a preferred method: he liked to start the night with flowers, usually something simple that he picked out himself, and followed it with a restaurant he’d never been before but researched in advance, and then depending on the weather, he’d suggest getting a coffee and taking a walk around the city.

 

Things were not that simple. Showing up at Ronan’s door with flowers was an immediate no-go. There was no Yelp to research restaurants reviews, and even if he found a place he was interested in, going out publicly was risky. True, there was nothing strange about two men having dinner together, but Adam couldn’t trust his face. A romantic dinner in _Paris_ gazing at Ronan over candlelight? Anyone with eyes would know Adam’s intentions were less than pure.

 

That didn’t leave many options, and Ronan had made it clear he was not interested in using the club. Adam asked Henry one day at home for suggestions, only to be given a knowing wink.

 

“Adam, if you needed the apartment for the night, all you had to do was ask.” Henry cuffed him on the back of his head. “Do you need any condoms? I’ve got plenty.”

 

“Oh, my God.”

 

“Seriously, though. They hand them out like candy at my company. Can’t sell them without trying them.”

  
“I don’t need any condoms, Henry. It’s just a date.”

 

Henry gave him another salacious wink. Adam was on his moral high-horse about the issue the entire day, until he was going through his luggage and found the condoms Gansey had given him before he left. He’d forgotten about those. Adam realized he didn’t have any ground to judge Henry, especially when he hid them safely back inside his luggage.

 

Cooking was never one of Adam’s gifts but he made do. When Ronan showed up that evening Adam led him to the small kitchen table, which he’d decorated with a rose picked from one of Henry’s window boxes and a half-used candle.

 

“It’s…” Adam scratched his head. His voice tilted up at the end of his sentence, almost like a question. “I tried.”

 

Ronan said nothing, but the corner of his lip lifted slightly. Dinner was stiff at first, Ronan still clearly annoyed or nervous about the entire concept of dating. They were supposed to get to know one another, but Ronan was being annoyingly uncommunicative. He learned fairly little about the man.

 

After a half-hour of awkward questioning, Adam poked at his salad and asked, “So, how long have you lived in Paris?” Ronan leveled his gaze at Adam, the question clearly edging closer to his secret than he liked. _“What?_ That’s a totally normal question to ask someone.”

 

Ronan chewed at his bottom lip before muttering, “About ten years.”

 

“And what made you choose Paris?” Ronan tossed his napkin on the table and sat back in his seat, arms folded.  Adam glared right back, mimicking Ronan’s stance, and said, “Look. I’m not going to force you to tell me how it works, but you gotta’ work with me here. You think every question leads back to your immortality--”

 

_“Jesus, I’m not immortal--”_

 

“Oh, my God, no one is here. It’s just us.” Seeing Ronan’s neck twitch reminded Adam to cool it. There were clearly underlying issues that Adam couldn’t comprehend, and teasing Ronan about it wasn’t fair. “Sorry, I’m being a dick. It’s just… We’re supposed to get to know each other. I don’t know how to _do_ that if every question is off-limits.”

 

Ronan pinched the bridge of his nose before moving to massage his right temple. “I’m being crazy, I know.”

 

“You’re not--”

 

“My father was very…” Ronan dropped his hand into his lap, and with it, dropped whatever thought he had. “I came to Paris on a whim, chose it randomly. Fucking stupid, looking back, because I didn't know a lick of French.”

 

It occurred to Adam, suddenly that he’d never seen Ronan speak French. “You must be fluent by now, though.”

 

Ronan picked at his chicken. “Well.”

 

_“Oh, my God.”_

 

“So many people spoke English here, and most of my daily business only required I know a few simple words. _Bonjour. Combien. Le pain._ ” Adam didn’t know the latter word, so Ronan held up a chunk of bread in explanation. “By the time I started the club I had Czerny, and he handled any conversations I couldn’t do.”

 

“Wait… ‘started the club?’ As in _our_ club?”

 

“No, as in _my_ club,” Ronan said, throwing a piece of bread at Adam. “You didn’t know it was my club?”

 

_“No!”_

 

Ronan rolled his eyes, but there was pride behind them. “I bought this entire building when I moved here. It was empty, most of the time. Rented it out to an Italian couple for a bit, but their restaurant went under. Then I met Czerny and we started talking. Somehow we got the idea for a secret club, then we had to do a bunch of boring shit, and long story short, now I’m running Paris’s most popular club that no one knows about.”

 

“How did I not know this?” Adam asked, more to himself than to Ronan. “No wonder you’re there all the time. I just thought you really liked it.”

 

“Had to spend my time doing _something_ ,” Ronan said, shrugging like it wasn’t a huge fucking deal to run an underground club.

 

Ronan’s arm was resting on the table. Adam eyed it, wanting badly to grab Ronan’s hand. Instead, he crept his hand across the table and grabbed the fabric of Ronan’s suit between his fingers. “What’s the story behind the club?”

 

“I have a decent amount of money saved up, from over the years. Mostly from buying land when it was cheap and reselling it later.” The arm that Adam had trapped stayed still against the table, but with his other free hand, Ronan waved his fingers and rolled his eyes, an absurd gesture that Adam assumed meant he knew he was breaking his own rule and didn’t care. “I was with someone then and really tired of hiding all the time, so Noah and I started this elaborate plan for a secret club. I thought it was a joke but Noah held onto it. Ending up being a good decision. I’ve made back all my money and then some, and we don’t have to hide.”

 

Adam was buzzing. Ronan had given him virtually no information the entire evening and, suddenly, far too much. He had so many questions and knew Ronan would cooperate with very few answers. He went with the part that most interested him. “So… You’ve dated since…me?”

 

“Again, it’s been _fifty years,_ Adam.” Perhaps insulted, or just annoyed, Ronan pulled his arm out of Adam’s hands.  

 

“I know, I know. I just meant, like: _So. You’ve dated._ ” Adam then gestured to continue talking. Ronan folded his arms against his chest and glared, to which Adam scoffed. “Come on, I deserve a little information. I was your first kiss. How did you get from our kiss in London to pushing me against alley walls?”

 

“This is not a first date conversation, even you must recognize that,” Ronan muttered.

 

“Fine.”

 

Adam set down his silverware neatly on his plate and leaned back in his chair, hands linked. There was a question he’d been wanting to ask but it _definitely_ fit under Ronan’s list of will-not-be-discussed-over-my-dead-body questions. Though his curiosity got the best of his diplomacy at times, Adam _did_ want to respect Ronan’s privacy. Plus, forcing Ronan into admitting the truth would push him further away, the last thing Adam wanted. So he could be patient. Maybe he’d pry for information when the opportunity seemed appropriate, but he could wait.

 

Except this one question.

 

Adam cleared his throat.

 

“So I know I’m not supposed to ask about…you know. But I kind of need to know this one thing. It’s important.” Ronan’s posture stiffened instantly. Adam leaned forward and linked his fingers between Ronan’s while he was pissed anyway. “How old are you?”

 

“How is that important?” Ronan was glaring daggers at their linked hands. The fact that he didn’t pull away seemed like a good sign for Adam to continue.

 

“Well, while I’m safely above the age of consent, generally speaking, people tend to frown upon large age gaps in relationships. Obviously our situation is a little different, but I’d like to know if that gap is more like a fissure or a chasm.”

 

Ronan’s voice was firm, but the confident effect was ruined when he hunched forward. “I’m 25.”

 

“Okay, but how _long_ have you been 25?”

 

“I don’t know.” Ronan’s fingers tensed around Adam’s once he saw his expression. “I’m serious. It’s hard to explain. It’s-- It’s different. Time doesn’t work for me like it does for you. The rest of you are really hung up on time passing and getting shit done before you’re old, and you pay _so_ much attention to dates. I don’t think about it at all. We never celebrated birthdays, so I don’t know when I was born. More than two hundred, probably less than three hundred.”

 

Sometimes, Adam wondered whether Ronan realized how many hints he dropped about his secret. It was always small bits of information - phrases like _“we never celebrated birthdays” -_ that Adam could quickly dissect to unravel an important part of the puzzle. So it was a familial gift, and possibly, Declan and Matthew still existed somewhere, ageless and perfect.

 

“This is-- I told you you’d rethink it,” Ronan muttered. He pulled his fingers away from Adam to press at his temple, head hung low. “It’s... _wrong._ I know it’s wrong.”

 

“It’s not _wrong._ It may be a little weird, but it’s not _wrong.”_ When Ronan didn’t meet his eyes, Adam leaned across the table and dipped his head so that he gazed up at Ronan. “Look, it’d be wrong if you were taking advantage of me. Preying on my innocence or manipulating me somehow. I’ve never felt that way once. If anything, I’ve always felt like _I_ was the more experienced one of us both.”

 

Ronan shoved Adam’s face away with a groan, but there was a hint of a smile playing at his lips. Adam wanted to chase that look, to make Ronan smile generously, but the desire to be a little shit and ruin the moment was overpowering. Ronan was taking a bite of bread when Adam asked, “So if time goes slower to you, then me being gone for fifty years isn’t _so_ bad, right?”

 

Ronan’s eyes narrowed as he paused in the act of chewing, teeth grinding over his food in annoyance. After swallowing his food, Ronan bit, “Not _that_ slow.”

 

“I was kidding.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

Adam needed a distraction. He propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, examining Ronan. “Okay, so if you don’t have a birthday and you don’t keep track of time, how do you know you’re 25?”

 

Ronan jerked his head to the side. _No._ Too close to the secret, apparently.

 

“I know I’m being annoying, asking all these questions, but it’s really interesting to think about. Like, from a scientific standpoint.” Adam stood from the table and collected their plates. He started washing the dishes, though he barely registered the activity. His brain had taken over. “Obviously your body doesn’t age, but I wonder about your brain. I know it stops growing in your early twenties, but I think development continues until your 30s or so.”

 

Ronan stood next to Adam with a towel, drying dishes as he was handed them.

 

“Or, like, we say there isn’t a limit to how much one person can learn, right? But that’s with the assumption of a typical human brain. Your memory isn’t affected by your age, right? Like, you still remember things pretty clearly?”

 

“More or less. I can’t remember _everything_ , obviously.”

 

Oh. Adam was _quite_ aware of that. It still stung a little, the knowledge that Ronan could barely remember their first meeting.

 

“Okay, so your brain seems to be healthy. So, if you were to just study and study forever, would you brain ever reach a place where it just couldn’t accept any more information? Like, it’s just stuck?”

 

Ronan snorted. “I am not in danger of that, don’t worry.”

 

Adam turned off the water. Ronan handed him the towel, and after drying his hands off, Adam turned around to lean his side against the counter, facing Ronan. “I’m just saying. It’s interesting to think about. God, I wish I could get a look at your brain. Compare it to mine.”

 

Ronan’s face suddenly darkened. He gathered his coat and gestured to his forehead. “I need to go. Headache.”

 

Adam was slow to respond to the abrupt change. In no more than ten seconds, Ronan pressed his lips to Adam’s cheeks and dismissed himself from the apartment. Adam’s feeble cry of “Wait!” hit the air the same time the door slammed shut. Ronan probably didn’t hear it. Or he didn’t care.

 

Adam stood in the kitchen, replaying the conversation in his head, for too long.

 

* * *

 

 

The truth was that it was hard to date Ronan, sometimes. There were good dates, of course, like the day out to Provins. Ronan let Adam drive to the city, where he spent half the journey popping strawberries into Adam’s mouth, the other half letting his fingers trail across Adam’s ear, down his shoulder, to his hand at the wheel. Once in the city their affection for one another had to be muted, but because Ronan had strictly outlawed kissing until they got to know one another more, it wasn’t anything Adam hadn’t gotten used to already. Wanting Ronan from afar was his speciality, it seemed.

 

But most dates were not like Provins. Most were Ronan putting up walls when Adam asked a question too personal. It was Adam pressing too far or wanting too much, getting frustrated when he gave so much of himself and Ronan offered nothing back. It was Ronan allowing himself a moment to be carefree around Adam - to smile at Adam or brush his hair from his face or laugh at his jokes - before he’d remember that he was still mad at Adam. The whiplash was difficult.

 

Harder, though, was the fact that Adam didn’t have the right to complain. Sometimes Adam would imagine what it must be like for Ronan, to have met Adam in such an intense and beautiful moment, only for Adam to disappear. He thought about how long fifty years really was and had trouble wrapping his brain around it. Adam hated his mother for popping into his life and wanting to start fresh, or the differences in Blue’s personality that emerged when she started dating Gansey, each a development that happened within five years.

 

What right did Adam have to tell Ronan he should just get over it?

 

Sometimes, though, Adam wondered if Ronan ever _would_ get over it. Because there was something nagging at him. A worry that wouldn’t go away, one that found him when Ronan seemed hesitant to forgive: if Ronan was immortal, why hadn’t he found Adam in his time?

 

Adam twisted that question around hundreds of times, tried to think of logical explanations. There was only one answer that kept him up late into the night, though.

 

Maybe Ronan didn’t want to find him.  

 

* * *

 

 

Adam was beginning to lose count of days he’d been in the past, but as summer started to wrap up in Paris, he assumed it was ending in his time, too. It was a little dangerous how quickly time had passed, and suddenly Adam understood why Blue was so nervous. Adam was very tempted to just never go back.

 

It’d been almost a month since he and Ronan had started “dating” each other, a month of just kisses on cheeks and holding hands. Currently, they were both sitting at the very back of a darkened theater, waiting for _Ben Hur_ to start. Adam had been the one to suggest seeing the movie, telling himself it was a less cliche choice for a date in the 1920s than his time. The movie was getting rather old by this point, making the theater relatively empty.

 

Prior to the start of the movie, Adam thought it would be a fun experience. The 1920s were the start of movies and he wanted to experience it in its full glory: black and white, no sound, exaggerated actors and terrible props. He was less sophisticated than he thought, apparently. It took only three minutes for Adam to miss the epic soundtrack, massive explosions, and racy sex scenes he was accustomed to. He hadn’t even thought he _liked_ them.

 

He slid further and further into his seat, until he could barely see the movie over the back of the chair in front of him. Ronan noticed and mimicked the action. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” Adam whispered. When Ronan hummed under his breath, Adam added, “It’s just-- It’s different.”

 

“You have movies in your time?”

 

“Definitely.” Adam used the quiet of the theater as an excuse to edge closer to Ronan, leaning just on Ronan’s shoulder. “There’s hundreds of movies produced a year. You can hear the actors talking. There’s epic fight scenes and explosions and ridiculous romance.”

 

Adam felt a pressure on the top of his head. Ronan must have leaned his cheek against him. It sent a surge of energy, straight to Adam’s heart. They were stupid to be this close, probably, but it was so dark inside and they were hidden behind the rows of chairs. If there was any time to take a risk, this was it.

 

“Sounds too intense,” Ronan said.

 

“They’re fun. Mindless fun, but fun.”

 

“You go often?”

 

“No. They’re too expensive.”

 

He could feel the press of Ronan’s lips against his hair, as if he were about to say something. Finally, Ronan mumbled, “Sorry if it’s boring.”

 

“I’m not bored.” Adam knocked his knees against Ronan’s legs. “Not like this.”

 

They watched the movie silently for awhile, content with their chaste cuddling. When someone in the front row stood up, however, Ronan darted away. Adam reminded himself not to feel offended or upset, but he missed the press of Ronan.

 

Ronan must have sensed this, because he muttered, “Sorry. It’s just--”

 

“No, don’t apologize. We shouldn’t be careless.”

 

Still, Ronan widened his legs, letting them spread until his thigh was resting against Adam’s. He let the edge of his foot touch Adam’s shoe. Adam found it all stupidly romantic.

 

Adam almost didn’t hear Ronan’s next question, his voice so quiet that the churning of the movie projector behind them almost drowned him out. It wasn’t the words that got Adam’s attention, though, but the _way_ Ronan said it: like the words got stuck in his throat, like they were a prayer.

 

“Is it still like this for you? In your time?”

 

Adam had wondered if Ronan would ever ask this question. They talked about the future sometimes but never anything too serious. Ronan would ask what cars were like, or America, but they’d skirted around the topic. Adam had thought about what he would say, if Ronan ever asked, but it didn’t make the conversation any easier.

 

“It’s better than this,” Adam conceded, speaking slowly so as to choose his words carefully. “But it’s not… what it should be. And it depends where you live. Back home, in Henrietta, it’s hard. I never felt comfortable being myself there. College was easier. People were more accepting.”

 

Ronan wasn’t paying attention to the movie. His face, barely lit by the screen of the theater, was hard to read. He looked disappointed, or maybe resigned.

 

“Would we have to hide?” Ronan asked.

 

“I don’t,” Adam admitted. He let his hand drop to the side, palm up, and pretended they were holding hands. “Aside from the occasional nasty comment or the uncomfortable staring, it’s fine. But if you were with me… If we could be together in my time, I’d never hide.”

 

Ronan whispered, “Want to go back to my place?”

 

_“Yes.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Going back to Ronan’s wasn’t nearly as scandalous as it sounded. Ronan made them coffee, which they sipped as they sat on his couch next to each other. Thighs pressed against thighs, fingers linked through fingers. They inched closer and closer, finding new ways to touch without pushing any boundaries, until eventually Ronan had his head in Adam’s lap.

 

Adam ran his fingers through Ronan’s hair, marveling at how long it was getting. “Sometimes I still find it weird you have hair now.”

 

“I always _had_ hair,” Ronan grumbled. “I chose to shave it off.”

 

“You look nice either way, but I kind of like it long.” Adam tugged at a strand of hair, pulling the wave straight. “When I first met you it was so curly.”

 

Ronan closed his eyes, humming in appreciation under his breath. Adam continued to run his hand through his scalp, enjoying seeing Ronan’s muscles relax.

 

“I couldn’t stand seeing my reflection,” Ronan said. His voice was so stable that Adam hadn’t realized he was about to drop a bomb. “My mother used to say that I was my father’s son. Looked just like him. So after he died…”

 

Adam’s hands stilled. Something about the conversation was leaving him anxious and he wasn’t sure why. It was picking at his brain, an idea only half formed and yet still powerful.

 

“Your father wasn’t like you guys then?” Adam asked. Nevermind that Ronan had never officially confirmed his brothers were the same, nevermind that this was a question that Ronan would normally refuse to answer.

 

Adam must have lulled Ronan into a sense of relaxation, enough that he was letting go of secrets with little hesitancy. “No, he was. All the men in my family have it.”

 

“So… Your mother…”

 

Ronan shifted in Adam’s lap, turning so that he pressed his face into his legs. “She’s -- It’s hard to explain. She’s gone, now.”

 

There was another question burning in Adam’s mind, one he was too afraid to ask. Adam told himself to forget it, to just _let it go_ , and focused on tracing the shell of Ronan’s ear with his finger. His hands were shaking. The question hung in the air, polluting the peaceful evening, and Adam knew he couldn’t escape it.

 

“If your father had it…” Adam licked his lip. He didn’t want to know. _He didn’t want to know._ “How did he die?”

 

Ronan didn’t seem to be on the same page as Adam. In fact, he didn’t seem phased at all by the question at all. His lips quirked, as if Adam said a funny joke, and he said, “We’re ageless, Adam, not _indestructible._ ”

 

_Not indestructible._

 

_Not indestructible._

 

Adam exhaled, and with it, out poured every worry and every question he’d been holding onto since he found out the truth. He didn’t recognize his breath, didn’t recognize the ragged sound that came from his mouth. Ronan twisted to look up at him, brows furrowed and eyes sharp.

 

“Adam?”

 

He was a fool. Adam thought there was only one possible explanation for Ronan’s absence in his time, and he thought there was nothing worse than being rejected. But this was worse. This was much worse.

 

Ronan could die.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JK, there's another mystery. ;) 
> 
> I'm sorry to Team-Time-Traveling Ronan. You made SUCH good theories that I actually wished I went that route, but alas. And to Team Immortal - you're basically there, except that little snag at the end. (I consider immortality = inability to die, personally, so in my eyes he's not immortal.)
> 
> Couple comments based on questions I'm anticipating you have:
> 
> 1\. Yes, you will find out more about how everything works with Ronan in the next couple chapters. 
> 
> 2\. The companion piece I plan to write is Ronan's POV, so anything you ever DON'T find out is probably because I plan to do it in that. (Partially why I wanted to write the companion piece as I spread out these chapters is that if anyone brings up a question that I hadn't planned to include, then voila, I can add it. Unless it's a plot hole that I didn't think of and then I'll just cry.)
> 
> 3\. Yes, Ronan has been the same age the entire time. My intention was that he only APPEARS to be a different age due to the place he's at in his life, sort of based on how trauma can change us both emotionally and physically. Lynch is pre-death of Niall and relatively normal (I imagine him actually much goofier than he is, but remember that Adam is a kid/stranger at that point, and thus Ronan wouldn't treat him as he normally would), London Ronan is very soon after Niall's death and thus trauma has done a doozy on him, and Paris Ronan is Ronan in a much healthier place, albeit still working on some shit. Based on comments, I might need to go back sometime and be a liiittle more descriptive about "Lynch," as I get the impression that many people thought he was younger than he was. (UGH lemme' just tell you it is SO HARD to walk the balance between being descriptive, but not TOO descriptive that people start catching on.) 
> 
> 4\. Everyone had SUCH awesome theories and I hope the reveal wasn't too disappointing, but to me, I was more interested in the emotional side of time travel than making the time travel aspect very complicated. Specifically the topic of change. Only a few years have gone by on Adam's end, versus basically a lifetime on Ronan's, so of course he's going to grow and change. At it's heart, this story is about moving on from trauma/abuse, and so for Ronan, I thought it would be extremely difficult to have gone through SO much progress and positive change, and then suddenly have this person show up and treat you like the person you used to be. So Ronan is very conflicted. (The intention, if you go back and read, is that Ronan gets particularly mean to Adam when Adam treats him like his old self, e.g. offering him alcohol or assuming he's a virgin/hasn't become comfortable in his sexuality.)
> 
> Just to warn you, I might not update AS fast with this second half for a couple reasons. First, because I just felt way more confident in the first half and thus didn't need to spend much time editing, but second, I can only imagine that someone will ask a question and I'll be like, "Oh, fuck, that's true. God dammit, now I gotta' find a place for that." I'll try to still do at least 2 times a week if I can, though, but I don't know if I can guarantee what days those will be yet. 
> 
> Okay, this is getting too long, ahhh! Thank you SO MUCH for the awesome response. I am blown away. Thank you also to people who have supported me on Ko-Hi! I wish there was a way to individually thank you through the site but, if there is, I can't figure out how...


	10. The Time Of Just Us Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: mild references to Adam's father/mother in the flashback.

_ Abuse lingered in ways Adam couldn’t predict and it wasn’t fair. It was strategic, ruthless. He thought time was supposed to heal wounds, but the trauma was just hiding, waiting for his defenses to go down.  _

 

_ His father was dead. He couldn’t hurt him anymore. But on the day he graduated from Yale, a day that should have been glorious, Adam spent the entire ceremony thinking of his childhood.  _

 

_ When he was a kid, his mother used to say, “Don’t throw compliments away, so long as they’re free.” If Adam were to remove himself from his life - to think of this piece of advice without the truth of Robert Parrish and the way he snuffed out any bit of confidence - it sounded solid. Why deny a compliment?  _

 

_ People were complimenting him,  _ had _ been complimenting him through his time at Yale. Blue dragged Gansey to his graduation, carrying with her a card from her mother and aunties, and their words were all praise. It was also fellow classmates, former professors. _

 

_ “Adam, Summa Cum Laude! That’s insane!” _

 

_ “Your paper on interfacial phenomena will go down as one of my favorite student-written essays in quite some time, Mr. Parrish.” _

 

_ And Adam would brush them off, mumble something that sounded like gratitude but avoided taking credit for his hard work. There, in the corner of his eye, hanging like an aura, was the vision of his father. What would his father think if still alive? Would he be proud? Would he complain that Adam was showing off? Would he try to act like the father he never was, swing his arm around Adam’s shoulder, tell him he did well? No, none of that.  _

 

_ Why couldn’t he think about something else? This was  _ his _ day. Why was he thinking about his father? _

 

_ Because of the compliments? Adam was allowed to be proud of himself. _

 

_ Blue hugged him. She was wearing a sweater. It was soft, not from too many years worn but from too much money, and he didn’t recognize her for a moment.  _

 

_ “I’m so proud of you, Adam,” she whispered. “You worked so hard.” _

 

_ He did. But forgetting his past was not something that came from working hard. No matter what Adam did, he saw his father’s face in every compliment.  _

 

* * *

 

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

Distantly, Adam heard the question but he didn’t respond.  _ Yeah, Adam, what are you thinking about?  _ His eyes were settled, unblinking, on his own hands, watching as he cracked each knuckle again and again. There was a pressure at his side, then the press of lips against his bare shoulder. It woke him up, sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins. Adam sucked in a deep breath, so quick it nearly whistled.

 

“Adam?”

 

He turned, not expecting to see Ronan still resting his lips on his shoulder. Adam’s breath caught his his throat, the sight of Ronan’s clear eyes and red lips, along with their warmth on his raw skin, a little bit much for his heart to bear. Kissing was still outlawed. Not that they’d discussed it, but Ronan hadn’t made any move to cross the barrier. 

 

“Your head is somewhere else lately,” Ronan murmured, dragging his lips down and away from his skin, finally releasing his hold on Adam’s heart to lay back on the grassy field.

 

Adam looked away. The sun lit up Ronan’s face and it all felt too much.  “Sorry, I’m just… tired, I guess.” 

 

It wasn’t completely a lie. Adam  _ was _ tired. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since he found out Ronan could die. Every night he’d lay in bed, worrying and worrying. Ronan either didn’t want to be with him in the future, or something had happened to him. Despite the occasional arguments, things felt too good between them lately, too  _ right _ , to imagine the first one was to blame. 

 

Which left Adam to think of all the ways Ronan could die. And there were a lot of ways he could die. 

 

_ Stop it, _ he told himself.  _ Not here. Not right now. _ Ronan read Adam too easily; he found the smallest hint of a worry on Adam’s expression, in the way Adam’s voice softened or when his eyes caught on worthless objects for too long. Adam had done a very good job of keeping his worries silent and secret so far. Telling Ronan of his fears would be cruel; knowing your death was coming didn’t set you free, it was a ticking clock.

 

He just needed a little more time to think it through. To retrace what he’d studied in history. True, there was nothing Adam could do if Ronan’s death was an unforeseen casualty, no way to stop him from accidentally walking into an oncoming car or being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he would do anything to stop it. And that included wracking his brain for any historical event that Ronan might get swept into.

 

The problem was...there were many. And telling Ronan to avoid one area might lead him into another. 

 

He needed to stop thinking about this. Now wasn’t the time. 

 

“Where’d Henry and Noah go?” Adam asked, looking around the pond for their friends. It was a particularly sweltering day, one that started with Henry and Adam laying on the floor of their apartment nearly naked, too hot to do anything productive. It must have been heat damage that led Henry to suggest the four of them go on a double-date to a public lake; Adam couldn’t judge Henry, though, because he didn’t even hesitate before agreeing to go. 

 

Thankfully, Noah knew of a pond that wasn’t very popular. When they first got there a few Parisians were swimming in it. By late afternoon, however, the family had packed up and gone on their merry way, leaving the four of them blissfully alone. What remained was almost picturesque; Adam could envision Monet sketching this scene, the edge of the water lapping against the shore, the lily pads bundled in the center, willow-trees dancing in the wind.

 

Still, it was risky to be too affectionate. Noah and Henry were smart adults, quite capable of handling themselves, and yet their disappearance sent a surge of worry to Adam’s toes. They were practically insatiable, always kissing or touching or dancing at the club, and Adam suspected they’d snuck off for some privacy in the woods. 

 

“They’ll be okay,” Ronan said. “Anyway, Cheng wore that ridiculous one-piece swim set. Nothing is getting out of that without cutting the whole thing open. He might be outlandish at times, but he’s no exhibitionist.”

 

Adam gazed at Ronan’s suit, a set of loose, striped shorts with a matching tank-top, and held his comments. Henry’s bathing suit - which indeed was a tight, elastic one-piece that looked vaguely like a teenage boy’s wrestling uniform - was a bit dorky, but Ronan couldn’t talk. Adam generally liked the fashion of the 1920s, but he drew a line at bathing suits. Ronan had pitched a fit when Adam insisted on going shirtless, though his complaints lacked bite the more Adam caught him staring. 

 

After confirming they were still alone, Adam collapsed onto the grass, twisting his neck so that he could press his nose against Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan smelled like sweat and lake water, and it was a true testament to how far gone Adam was that he found himself turned on. Then again, it didn’t take much these days.

 

Adam needed to stop that train of thought, too. Ronan dying and seducing Ronan were both firmly off the table, as both left him frustrated. He reached for a change of subject. “How long do you plan to stay in Paris?” 

 

Ronan tossed an arm over his eyes and shrugged. “Not sure. Can’t stay for too much longer, though.”

 

“Why not?”   
  


“We have to move every ten years or so. People start to notice, get suspicious. I’ve already overstayed my welcome here.”

 

Lately, Ronan had begun to betray more and more of his secrets. Adam would ask a simple question and Ronan would add more detail than necessary. Adam wondered if Ronan was simply being careless - letting fatigue or romance get the better him - or if the mistakes were made on purpose. Sometimes it felt like he  _ wanted _ Adam to know. As if the idea of being honest was still too frightening to Ronan, so he fed Adam secrets carefully, like scraps of food  accidentally dropped for the family dog. Whether or not it was intentional, however, Adam was still learning bad habits. He couldn't resist begging for more.

 

“Who is ‘we’? Your brothers?” Ronan’s right cheek hollowed, as if he were sucking it between his teeth. Adam pressed a little more. “They’re still alive, right? Where are they?”

 

Ronan didn’t say much at first. Adam slid their hands together, bringing Ronan’s fingers to his mouth. He rubbed them against his own lips and the gesture eventually coaxed words from Ronan’s mouth.

 

“They’re in France, too. A coastal town up north. They don’t--” Ronan sighed. “They don’t know I’m here. I kind of ran away.”

 

Adam got the full story eventually: about five years after Adam disappeared back to his time, Declan decided they needed to move from London. Apparently their father used to be in charge of deciding where they moved, arranging any details they needed, new identities, credentials, housing, that sort of thing; after he died, Declan took on the job. It was getting harder as time went on (though, Adam reasoned, not nearly as hard as it  _ would _ be - if Ronan did exist in his time, he’d have to secure a new Social Security Card, license, and credit every time they moved) but Declan took the job seriously.

 

Too seriously, Ronan argued. It was what led to his departure.

 

“I was tired of moving. It’s… lonely, being us. And I wanted to make friends. Maybe meet someone…” It felt arrogant to think he was the catalyst for this realization, and yet Adam did not miss the way Ronan’s eyes traveled quickly to him. “Declan disagreed. Said it was too dangerous. That Bluenose.”

 

Jumping on Ronan’s annoyance with his brother, Adam said, “That’s ridiculous.”

 

Ronan cast him a harsh look, and Adam nearly laughed at the preposterousness of it all. Ronan could say rude things about his brother but Adam couldn’t, okay. Adam didn’t have a family, didn’t know this unsaid rule.

 

“It’s not his fault,” Ronan muttered. “My father… I love-- I loved my father, but time has made me realize he was… a complicated man. Who didn’t always do the right thing.”

 

Adam rolled on his stomach and hooked his chin under his crossed arms, knowing Ronan wouldn’t be able to continue his explanation if he were looking at him. Still, he snuck looks at Ronan occasionally, needing to check how he was doing.

 

“He wouldn’t let us tell anyone. Which is fine. It should be a secret, but… His method for doing so was too much. He would tell us these horrible stories, about how if people find out they would catch us and cut us open, pull out our brains as a fucking science experiment.”

 

_ God, I wish I could get a look at your brain. Compare it to mine. _

 

Adam shut his eyes, as if it could somehow stop the memory of his mistake vividly repeating itself. It didn’t.

 

“He just wanted to protect us, of course, and who knows, he might have been right. I’m sure we’d attract the wrong attention if we weren’t careful.” Ronan picked at the grass, ripping strands into his fist. “But it’s so tiring. Running away and starting over, again and again. And I’m not like Declan. He has no qualms being with someone for a short amount of time. It’s like, the more people he surrounds himself with the less he feels lonely, even if they’re out of his life within seconds. But I can’t-- I can’t do that. That leaves me more lonely.”

 

Adam turned back to Ronan, curved his body into a crescent moon, and said, “Have you told him this?”   
  


Ronan frowned. “Well--”

  
“So. No. _ ” _

 

“You can’t talk sense to him,” Ronan muttered. “He’s too brainwashed by our father.”

 

“Don’t you miss your brothers, though?”

 

Ronan sat up from the ground and peered at the pond. His eyes were trained on a willow tree hanging over the water. “Do you think I’d die if I jumped from that tree into the water?”

 

_ “Yes.” _ Adam pulled Ronan by the forearm, stopping him from making his way to the tree. He didn’t want to press the conversation, but he had a goal for the original topic. As they walked to the edge of the pond, Adam asked, “Okay, so where should we go next, then? If you have to leave Paris, soon.”

 

Ronan took Adam by both hands and pulled him into the water. He was trying very hard not to smile. “We?”

 

“I want to be with you. Wherever you go,” Adam twisted out of Ronan’s grip to sink into the water. “I told you it would be like this. Getting to know you only makes me want you more.”

 

As Adam spoke, Ronan sunk into the water, only his eyes peeking out from the surface. Eventually, he popped up to say, “And what about you? You’re just going to follow me blindly?” 

 

_ I need to keep you safe. I need to keep you alive. _

  
When Adam didn’t respond, Ronan swam toward him. “What about your life, in the future? You wanted to be someone. Design something.”

 

Adam’s heart swelled at the fact that Ronan still remembered their conversation from so many years ago. Tentatively, Adam reached his arms out to wrap around Ronan’s neck, pulling their bodies closer together. It was a strategic move, part to soothe Adam’s ache for Ronan, and part to distract the man from the conversation. It seemed to work. Ronan’s breath skittered when he rested his hands on Adam’s hips. 

 

“I think you should get out of Europe,” Adam whispered. “It’s going to get…bad here.”

 

Ronan’s eyes drifted to Adam’s lips. _Oh no._ _Not now._ Adam really needed him to hear this. He used his fingers to tilt Ronan’s chin up, forcing him to look back up.

 

Ronan took the hint. “Out of Europe, huh? Maybe I should go to America. See where you came from.”

 

“America  _ now  _ isn’t the America I came from,” Adam said. “Anyway, don’t-- don’t come to America quite yet. Wait a bit. Until the 1930s are over. What do you think about South America? I don’t think they were involved in the war.”

 

“The war?  _ Another _ one?”

 

“Nevermind, don’t-- I shouldn’t-- fuck.” Adam jumped into Ronan’s arms. He wrapped his legs around Ronan’s torso, taking advantage of the water’s ability to make him weightless, and said, “Take me on a tour around the pond.”

 

Ronan groaned. “You can’t just drop that nugget of information and then act like it didn’t happen.”

 

“Why not? You do it to me all the time.” When Ronan growled, Adam nuzzled his nose into his neck and said, “Just… Not today. This is a good day. I don’t want to ruin it.”

 

Reluctantly, Ronan began to walk around the pond, taking Adam with him. This close, Adam could feel Ronan’s heart beating against his own skin if he concentrated.  _ Don’t die, don’t die, _ he thought to the thumping of Ronan’s heart.  _ Please don’t die. _

 

As Ronan circled them around the pond, holding tight to Adam the entire time, their talk turned less serious. Ronan asked questions about Blue - whether Adam missed her, what she was like - which only resulted in Adam complaining about Gansey. 

 

“Why don’t you like him?” Ronan asked. Adam didn’t miss the way Ronan’s grip tightened around his waist. “Jealous?”

 

Adam pinched him in the side. “No. I just-- He and I are two really different people. He’s rich and sort of insufferable about it sometimes. Like, it’d be one thing if he just owned up to his wealth, but he tries to hide it. Wears worn out boat-shoes and backpacks through South America, as if he couldn’t afford Doc Martens and the finest hotels. Sorry, none of that probably makes sense, he just-- I don’t know. He makes me feel like I’m 16 and living in Henrietta again.”

 

He couldn’t see Ronan’s face from their position, yet somehow he  _ heard _ the smile when Ronan said, “You know I’m technically rich, right?”

 

“No one would  _ know _ that, though. You don’t act like a rich person.”

 

“And what does a rich person act like?” Ronan bit at Adam’s shoulder, perhaps his way of diverting Adam’s attention with something rude so that he might not notice when he went in for the kill. “Because  _ you _ seemed like a rich kid to me.” 

 

Adam squirmed out of his grasp, officially annoyed, but Ronan kept a firm grip on his thighs. It was stupidly sexy. Why were they doing this again? What a terrible idea to get half-naked and wet and attempt a serious conversation. 

 

“I’m just trying to figure you out.  _ Get to know you,” _ Ronan said, using Adam’s words against him. “Your best friend likes him. He’s nice to you and he wants to be your friend. So what’s the problem? That Gansey makes you self-conscious? Or that he stole Blue?”

 

“If Blue were here she would want you to know that she is no one’s property and cannot be stolen.”

 

Ronan turned his head to Adam, running his nose across his cheek. He whispered, “I think you’re stubborn.” 

 

“Wow.”

 

“It’s cute.” 

 

Adam’s annoyance evaporated instantly. Ronan was staring at him, teeth biting his lower lip as he smiled cheekily, and they were so close. Adam could see a drop of water trailing from Ronan’s hair, down his cheek and to his jaw, and he had the strongest desire to kiss it. So he did. His lips touched the edge of Ronan’s jaw, just below his ear.

 

Ronan’s fingers tightened around Adam’s thighs. Adam pulled back, ready to apologize, but Ronan pressed forward and brushed his lips against Adam’s. Not quite a kiss, too much a whisper. But when Ronan pulled away he already had regret in his eyes. 

 

“I still want you,” Adam said quickly. He tightened his arms around Ronan’s neck. “It’s been a month and all I think about is how much I want you.”

 

“Adam--”

 

“No, just wait, okay? I know you’re different, and I respect that. I don’t want the old Ronan either. I like this one. And I’m glad we’re taking our time, getting to know each other, because this whole thing has made me realize you couldn’t have known how I felt about you, because you didn’t really know me either. You don’t know what I look like when I’m…” 

 

Ronan’s gaze didn’t falter. It was that same look he always did: contemplative but elusive. It pressured Adam to continue babbling, yet again spilling his guts like a poorly written poem.

 

“You know what my favorite thing about you is? The stupid dares. And the fact that I actually  _ do _ them. Because when I’m home I’m not like that. I’m so much different at home. I’m… too careful and I think too much. You turn my brain off. You make me ridiculous and I like it. I’m okay with you changing because I’m starting to learn that change isn’t bad. It’s happening to me, too, and I like how different I am with you.”

 

Ronan smoothed Adam’s hair from his eyes, combing it against his head with his nails. He let his thumb drag down Adam’s cheek. Finally, Ronan said, “Adam. I already knew you overthink everything.”

 

“Seriously?” Adam hit his fist gently against Ronan’s shoulder in annoyance, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

 

Ronan grinned. “Yes. That’s all I’m going to say. _ ” _

 

And that’s all he said. 

 

He did, however, kiss Adam slow and sweet. His lips dragged carefully across his bottom lip until Adam opened his mouth to beg for more, and finally Ronan slipped his tongue in. There was no rushing this time, no fear. He kept kissing Adam, kissing him for the first time without any guilt or regret or anger, as Adam shivered in the hundred degree heat. They kissed and kissed until someone was whistling obnoxiously off to the shore. 

 

It was Henry, who shouted in an exaggerated version of Adam’s accent, “Oh, my stars! I have been corrupted by this sinful behavior! What will I do?”

 

“Attaboy, America!” 

 

Ronan threw his hand behind him to flip the two off. Then he was easily convinced by Adam’s hands, tugging at the straps of his shirt, to come back to Adam’s lips.

 

* * *

 

Getting to kiss Ronan made things magnificent and horrific at the same time. Kissing Ronan whenever he liked made it feel real. Adam was easily lost in Ronan’s lips, could be easily lulled into a dream where Ronan found a quiet corner in the back of the club, popped the first few buttons of Adam’s shirt, and nipped at his neck.

 

_ Don’t die, _ Adam pleaded, sucking at the hollow of Ronan’s throat. 

 

_ Don’t die.  _ Ronan tugged Adam to him for a kiss as they did dishes.  _ Don’t die.  _ Ronan’s hands dragged the shirt off of Adam’s shoulders, allowing him room to touch his lips to Adam’s collarbone.  _ Don’t die.  _ Ronan pressed him into the bed, on all fours above him, as he kissed Adam’s cheeks and jaw and temple.

 

It really was good. 

 

But Adam had fought the ghost of Ronan’s lips once. He’d chased it down an empty whiskey bottle. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Ronan, now. 

 

* * *

 

They didn’t intentionally go to the forest, but it seemed to draw both of them to it one September night. They were walking off dinner when it was suddenly there, on Adam’s right. He hardly even noticed it, at first. Adam’s brain didn’t register the familiar branches or the way the forest was pitch black at its very entrance; instead, it was the way Ronan’s feet stilled and the prickling at his skin that made Adam realize,  _ oh, _ it was Cabeswater.

 

That’s what Ronan called it. It would always just be  _ the forest _ to Adam.

 

They couldn’t hold hands here in the open streets of Paris and Adam desperately wanted to. They were on the same page; Ronan gestured for Adam to follow him into the forest, and once there, he linked his fingers into Adam’s.

 

“This is Cabeswater,” Ronan said. With his free hand he reached up to touch a branch, almost like how one pets a dog. “It keeps me alive.”

 

_ “What?” _

 

Ronan gazed at their linked hands, pulling on each of Adam’s fingers, looking suddenly bashful. “This is how I don’t age. Cabeswater. The day I was born it appeared, too, just outside where we lived. It follows me wherever I go.”

 

Adam tried to picture it in his head but it was near impossible. “What do you mean it  _ follows _ you?” 

 

Ronan shrugged. “Every time I move somewhere new, a few days after I’ve settled, it parks itself near by. I don’t know how it works, it’s just magic. But it keeps me alive.”

 

Adam spun, looking at the forest in a new light. “How do you know it keeps you alive?”

 

“It’s hard to explain. My family-- we all have a token, sort of. Something that appeared when we were born and never went away. I don’t know if it has any significance, what gets chosen for each person. And mine is this forest.”

 

“What’s your dad’s?” Ronan rubbed his neck. Seeing his discomfort, Adam quickly said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”   
  


“No, it’s fine. I want to tell you. It’s just--” Ronan wrapped his knuckles against the bark of a tree and gnawed at his bottom lip. “It was my mother.”

 

_ “Your mom?  _ How--”

 

Ronan glared, clearly not appreciating Adam’s tone. “I told you, I don’t know. There’s no book that explained all this, it just happened one day to my family. All I know is when my father was born, a few days later, a baby appeared on my Grandmother’s doorstep. So they raised her, my Mum, and eventually when they were older my parents fell in love. Or something.”

 

Adam blew a breath from his lips and said, “Oh.”

 

“You can say it, you know.” Ronan let his hand slip from the tree as he circled around Adam. “It’s weird. Maybe a little wrong. I did say my father was complicated man. I think it made it easier, for him. Since she was magic, too, he didn’t have to worry about falling in love and outlasting her. He got to have a family this way. They had Declan, then me. All boys, so the curse, gift, whatever you call it, got to continue.”

 

Adam thought for a moment about the right thing to say, something that could sooth or justify the strange family dynamics of Ronan’s life, but nothing came. Ronan laughed under his breath, but despite the bitter response, he leaned down to plant a kiss on Adam’s cheek before he moved further into the forest. “Come on.”

 

“You don’t have to answer, but…” Adam stumbled on his words. How did you even  _ ask _ this? “You said your mom isn’t alive anymore…”

 

“Right. Well, since she was so connected to him, when he died she died, too. Just dropped dead in the kitchen one day.” Ronan spoke so distantly about the trauma, and though it was years and years ago, Adam was suspicious of the detached tone. “That’s how we found out our father had been murdered, actually. We didn’t find his body until later that day.”

 

Adam’s heart made itself known in his chest, lurching painfully. “Murdered?”

 

“There’s no point in asking me questions,” Ronan said, tone still eerily calm. Adam saw hints of the wound in Ronan’s balled fists. “We don’t know who did it. Or why. Declan thinks someone found out the secret. It’s probably why he’s so insane.”

 

Adam was starting to feel a bit dizzy. His heart was thudding so intensely, the pain making it hard to take normal breaths. “Are you-- Are you in  _ danger?” _

 

_ Don’t die. Don’t die. Please don’t die. _

 

Ronan recognized the worry in Adam’s tone immediately. He turned around, hands instantly cupping Adam’s face, and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, I’m fine. You didn’t answer, though. Are you in danger? Is someone going to come after you, too?”

 

Ronan was unconvinced by Adam’s dismissal, and his eyes searched Adam’s face for answers. It wasn’t until Adam repeated his name, angered, that Ronan said, “No, I’m fine. It’s been years, Adam. If someone was coming after us they would have found us by now, probably.”

 

Adam choked on a laugh.  _ “Probably.  _ Okay. _ ” _

 

“What’s going on with you lately?” Ronan tugged Adam’s chin back up to look at him. It made it harder to lie.

 

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Adam pushed forward through the forest, brain flipping through the endless list of questions he wanted to ask Ronan. He needed a change of topic. Fast. “Uh, so the forest. Cabeswater. No wonder your father thought it was so weird when I came out of it. It’s kind of like I came out of...uh...you.”

 

Ronan cringed. “Don’t say it that way.”

 

“Sorry. But you know what I mean.” Adam leaned against a tree, needing to catch his breath. He hoped Ronan wouldn’t pick up on his sudden fatigue. “I wonder why it chose me. In my time, I mean. It’s your forest, so why is it appearing to me?”

 

“It knows what I want,” Ronan said easily, and the phrase didn’t help Adam’s beating heart. At least this time it was from a good cause.

 

Abruptly, Ronan seemed to realize what he said. Even in the dusk of the forest Adam could make out the pink of his cheeks. It was always so endearing when Ronan blushed. His features were carved with an arrogant creature in mind, but in truth Ronan was quite delicate. When you took away the frown and replaced it with a flush, Adam had the urge to kiss it away.

 

So he did.

 

When kissing against the bark of a tree became too painful, Ronan pulled Adam further into the forest and said, “I wanted to show you one more thing.”

 

Sometimes, Adam wondered if Ronan sold all his secrets at once so that Adam couldn’t focus on one detail for too long. But it was always all or nothing with Ronan, in secrets or friendship or love, so Adam took it in step.

 

It took Ronan some time to find what he was looking for. Eventually they stopped in front of a field of tree stumps. The tops of the trees were nowhere in sight. Ronan gestured to a stump and said, “Look at it. See if you can figure out why I brought you here.”

 

Adam crouched down and inspected it. He didn’t know what to look for. The stump had a clean cut through it, clearly indicting it had been cut down, as did the rest of them. Adam didn’t know anything about trees so he couldn’t tell what they were, nor did know how to tell if it was healthy. He looked up at Ronan, helpless and a little annoyed.

 

Ronan’s lips twitched. “Do you know how to tell how old a tree is?”

 

“The rings, right?” Adam looked back to the trunk and counted the circles within it. There were twenty five. “Oh.  _ Oh!” _

 

Ronan gestured to the rest of the cut tree trunks. “They’re all that old. A little bit after I stopped aging I came here. Starting chopping them down on a theory. My father and Declan don’t know exactly what age they stopped at, but I’m lucky. If the forest doesn’t age past 25, I don’t think I can either.”

 

“Why 25?” 

 

Ronan shrugged. 

 

“Maybe that’s why you like cars so much. So you won’t get charged too much for car insurance,” Adam joked. “Oh, uh, it’s-- Well, it’s not worth explaining, it’s a really stupid joke.”

 

As they were walking out of the forest, Adam asked, “So what’s Declan and Matthew’s token?”

 

“I can’t.” Without warning, Ronan was back to his secrets. To his credit, his reasoning was more sound this time. “I don’t think it’s my right to share that with you,” he muttered, though he squeezed Adam’s hand in a silent apology. “Declan would be horrified I told you any of this, let alone his business.”

 

“Have you thought any more about finding them?”

 

“I just--” Ronan rubbed his temple, grimacing as he did it. “I know what Declan’s going to say. He  _ might _ accept you, but Czerny… or Cheng… There’s a strict ‘no-friends’ policy in the Lynch family.”

 

Adam felt a little guilty. He hadn’t factored Noah or Henry into the equation at all;  _ hell, _ he barely even thought of them lately. He’d been so swept up in Ronan and his secret that it struck him, quite painfully, to realize he might have wasted precious time. Ronan had said he’d have to leave soon, and Adam hadn’t realized that would mean leaving his friends as well.

 

“We’ll figure it out,” Ronan promised, fingers trailing to his own neck. He was massaging the skin behind his ear.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Small headache,” Ronan said. “Probably just from being in here too long.”

 

Adam felt the snap of anxiety before he realized what it was. It was a just a gnawing in his stomach, a hole that kept growing the more he liked Ronan, a voice screaming,  _ Don’t let him die, Adam, don’t let him die. _

 

* * *

 

 

“For crying out loud, Adam, would you  _ stop?” _

 

Adam was freaking out. He thought he was hiding it fairly well, but his pacing gave him away. Or maybe it was how often he kept trying to fluff Ronan’s pillow. Or his insistence on taking his temperature every hour. Or--

 

“I don’t need any more fucking soup. Soup will not make my cold go away,” Ronan complained.

 

Oh, it was the soup. 

 

Adam had forced Ronan into bed the moment he started coughing. He’d  _ tried _ to get Ronan to relax much sooner - if he had to be exact, it was the day after visiting the forest, when Ronan complained of  _ another _ headache - but Ronan insisted on overexerting himself. The headaches had developing into a cold, but then the cold came with chills and a fever, and suddenly all Adam could think of was,  _ What if Ronan died from the flu? People used to die all the time from illness. _

 

“How’s your head?” Adam rested the back of his hand on Ronan’s forehead. He still felt hot. Why the fuck did he still have a fever? It’d been several days. He needed Aspirin or Tylenol or, hell, even Nyquil or something. Most of those drugs probably didn’t exist yet, and the rest were only given out by doctors, apparently. “We should go to the doctor.”

 

“I can’t  _ go _ to the doctor,” Ronan muttered. “You know that.”

 

“Ronan--”

 

_ “Adam. _ You need to relax.” Ronan smiled, a cheery little grin that he probably thought would make Adam feel better. Its effects were ruined by Ronan’s clammy skin and the red rash creeping at the base of his throat.

 

“You could be seriously sick.”

 

“I’m not.” Ronan pushed himself up from bed. He almost hid his grimace. “I need to go to the club. We do inventory on Wednesdays. Czerny is helpless without me.”

 

Adam pushed him back down.  _ “No. _ Just tell me what to do. I used to do inventory at the grocery store, I can figure it out quickly.” 

 

“You worked all day already, I’m not going to make you work at night too--”

 

“I’m used to it--” 

 

“I  _ know _ you’re used to it, but that doesn’t mean you need to work yourself sick--”

 

“But I’m not sick! You are!” Adam found a piece of paper and a pen in Ronan’s nightstand and shoved them in his hand. “Write what you think you need. Noah and I will figure out the rest.”

 

They faced off in a glare. There was another fight brewing beneath the surface - one that had emerged in the recent weeks. Ever since Ronan had begun to divulge more of his past, Adam felt a little wrong withholding information about his. Ronan knew bits and pieces about his father, but it was sort of nice to be looked at without pity. So he just sort of...left out the worst details. Robert Parrish had a bad temper and took it out on his kid sometimes. Adam was not fond of him. End of story.

 

Adam did, however, admit to his grueling schedule growing up. How he’d worked three jobs throughout high school, only to spend the remainder of his time studying so that he could get a scholarship to cover college. (Which he barely managed. Yale offered a scholarship, but not a full ride. He’d almost had to drop out at the start of his third year, his savings account taking a dive when he couldn’t work due to a summer internship, but was saved when he was offered a small, private scholarship. It was from a nonsense company, one Adam found little information on. He tried not to think about how its arrival was conveniently timed to when Blue and Gansey started dating.)

 

Ronan was appalled when he found out. “Why are you working  _ here? _ Take a break!”

 

“How am I supposed to pay Henry for rent?”

 

This conversation quickly turned into an argument Adam was quite familiar with, though he’d never had it with Ronan. With Blue? Plenty of times. Arguing about money and charity was their MO from their very first date, where they argued over the check. Ronan had never seen this side of Adam and it clearly flummoxed him.

 

_ “Just live with me.” _

 

“Then I’d have to pay you rent.”

 

“Why would you have to do that?” 

 

It earned Ronan a lecture on responsibility and handouts that Adam had perfected by now. Ronan didn’t seem to listen to any of it. By the time Adam finished, Ronan had just looked at him, expression sour, and said, “But you lived with me for free in London.”

 

“Oh, really? Then where’s my cut for the construction work, and the chimney cleanings, and the--”

 

Ronan had given a glare then similar to the one he gave him now. It didn’t matter. Ronan would never win this battle, not when Adam had years of practice.

  
Ronan was definitely no match for Adam when he was sick. Eventually Adam coerced him into giving him some directions and a list of must-order items for the bar. They were back to no kissing, though this time to stop the spread of infection, so Adam waved from Ronan’s doorway and left for the club. (Not before leaving another bowl of soup by Ronan’s bed, though. He had made it, after all, and Ronan was hardly eating.)

 

Adam found Noah in the club’s office, though not alone. He was sitting at the desk, rifling through papers with a crazed look, as Henry massaged his shoulders from above. At the sight of Adam, Noah made a ridiculous sound in his throat - half cry of relief, half scoff - and said, “Thank God! America, you are good with numbers, no?”

 

Adam handed off the list of supplies to Henry, instructing him to go check how many bottles of each liquor were left, and worked to help Noah. They ran numbers, Noah double-checking Adam’s calculations, until the haphazard pile of papers covering the desk was neatly stamped and organized. 

 

The smell of smoke signaled Henry’s entrance before he appeared. Noah stole the cigarette from Henry’s lips and inhaled slow, and as he exhaled he said, “Beautiful.”

 

Adam watched the two of them share the cigarette, worrying at his thumb. Maybe it was his obsession with death lately, but Adam started to worry about the two men. Their favorite hobbies included drinking and smoking, both common habits in the 1920s from what Adam witnessed, but they didn’t really  _ know _ how bad it was for him. (At least Adam could safely assume they were having protected sex.) 

 

“America, why are you looking at us like that?”

 

“How many of those do you smoke a day?” Adam knew it would be impossible to talk them out of the habit completely, but  _ less _ was still an improvement. “I think you should cut back. I heard cigarettes can be pretty bad for you.”

 

“Aw, Bunny, you’ve spent too long nursing Remi back to health. You’ve become a nurse. We’re fine!” Henry pinched Adam’s cheek and then pulled at one of his suspenders, letting it snap back against Adam’s chest. “How’s our boy doing, by the way?”

 

“He’s...been better. Still has a fever. And now he’s got this rash.” Adam gestured to his neck, “Along here.”

 

Henry hummed under his breath. He was pawing at another cigarette - clearly not taking a lick of Adam’s worries seriously - and he twisted it between his fingers. “Hope it’s not Scarlet Fever.”

 

Adam stilled. “What?”

 

“Scarlet Fever. Neighbor of mine had it growing up. Awful, honestly.” Henry saw the color drain from Adam’s face and he quickly backtracked. “I’m sure it’s nothing!” 

 

“No, it’s not  _ nothing! _ Scarlet Fever  _ kills _ people, doesn’t it? What happened to your neighbor?” 

 

“Well… He was just a kid…”

 

Adam’s heart lurched again and it became hard to breath. It was a familiar sensation by now but it still took him by surprise. He leaned against the desk for support and asked, “What do we do to treat it?”

 

“I don’t know, I’m not a doctor!”

 

“He’ll never go to one,” Noah chimed in, voice wary. Adam hardly recognized Noah like this: somber, contemplative, worried. 

 

“Fuck. Fuck!” Adam ran a hand through his hair and spun around the room, feeling helpless. He needed access to medicine,  _ modern _ medicine, and to do a little research. Which he  _ did _ have access to, he just had to take a quick trip back. Gansey’s family was rich, they probably had plenty of medicine lying around the house. “Okay. No, it’s fine. I’ll just go-- Um, I think I know a way… Can you guys just keep an eye on the club for the night?”

 

“Where are you going?” 

 

“Just-- To a friend’s place. I think he can help. I should be back in a few hours, but can you check on him if I’m not back by…” Adam checked his watch. “Midnight?”

 

“Yes, of course.” Henry slugged Adam on the shoulder. “Catch your breath, Adam. It’ll be fine. Don’t rush.”

 

But Adam rushed. Of course he rushed. Every second he stayed in the past felt like a warning sign.  _ Ronan wasn’t in the future. He could die. You’re letting him die the longer you stay in Paris. _ The forest was a twenty-minute walk from the club, but Adam made it in ten, panting by the time he reached its edge. 

 

This time, as Adam crashed through it, he noticed the way the branches reached out to him as he passed. Had they always done this? Were they showing affection, learned from their master, or were they pressing him forward, urging him to go faster? 

 

Adam broke out of the forest with a gasp of breath. He expected it to be late, like it was in Paris, but was met by the hot afternoon sun. The Gansey’s side yard was empty, thankfully, so he crept around the house, ducking under windows, as he tried to think of a plan. It struck Adam, only when he saw the house, that Gansey might not be there. It’d been months since he left. Was he willing to introduce himself to Gansey’s parents and demand they give him medicine and let him use their computer, all for Ronan?

 

Yes. Yes, absolutely.

 

Thankfully, Gansey’s obnoxious orange car was parked in their giant driveway. He never went anywhere without it. It gave Adam the courage to walk to their front door and knock.

 

It wasn’t until after he’d wrapped his knuckles on the door did he remember his outfit. Of course, of all people to open the door, it was Gansey’s beautiful and polished older sister. Adam had met Helen a few times, had even tried his hand flirting with her during the Fourth of July party. Her eyes narrowed on Adam’s suspenders and high-waisted pants.

 

“Uh, hi Helen. Is Gansey around?”

 

Helen peeked her head around Adam, probably looking for his car. When she found nothing, Helen let a perplexed, “Huh!” fall from her red lips. Still, she gestured for Adam to come in, yelling,  _ “Dick!” _ up the grand staircase that sat in the center of the foyer. 

 

Gansey came down the stairs not long after, carrying a book with him. His attention was settled on its pages, not bothering to see why he was called, and Adam was surprised to see him dressed in thin-wire glasses and green-checkered pajama pants. Was this Gansey-casual?

 

When he finally noticed it was Adam, the book slipped from his hands. “Oh, Adam! You’re back!”

 

Adam’s gaze slid to Helen, who was still watching them curiously. Gansey gestured for Adam to follow him upstairs, and as they walked to his room, Gansey said, “I was beginning to think you’d never come back, honestly! Great outfit. You look straight out of  _ The Great Gatsby _ .” Gansey shut his bedroom door behind him. “So, what have you been  _ doing? _ How’s the past?”

 

“Yeah, Gansey, I don’t have time to chat. I’m sorry. I need to borrow a computer, or a phone. And I think I’m going to need some medicine.” The words were tumbling out of Adam. It was as if the moment he caught his breath, all Adam could think about was how he needed to get back. “My friend, he’s-- I think he might have Scarlet Fever. I don’t know, he’s really sick, and--”

 

“Hold on. Deep breaths, Adam.” Gansey instructed Adam to sit on the bed, pushing him down by the shoulders gently. Then, Gansey reached for a Macbook and handed it to Adam. “Here. You can use this. I’ll look on my phone, too.”

 

“Thank you,” Adam rushed. 

  
Gansey found a list of symptoms and began listing them as Adam listened carefully. Rash - yes. Fever - yes. Headaches - yes. So far Ronan hadn’t had any nausea, and Adam couldn’t remember if there’d been a rash anywhere but Ronan’s neck. The symptoms weren’t perfect, but they aligned enough that Adam’s heart rate spiked.

 

“Okay, how do you treat it?”

 

“Antibiotics. Which we don’t have lying around…”

 

“No, it’s okay. Does it say anything else?”

 

“Aspirin. Ibuprofen. I can get you both of those if you like?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

Adam searched Ronan’s symptoms for other causes while Gansey disappeared to grab medicine. The results were so irritating - they were either too vague (“Sounds like a cold” one messageboard user said) or indicated that Ronan would be dying any second. Gansey returned with two full bottles of pills. Adam stuffed them in his pockets and stood up.

 

“Okay, thank you Gansey. I need to get back.”

 

“Wait, Adam--” Gansey trailed after him, tugging on his arm. It didn’t stop Adam from walking down the stairs.  “Can you just hold on a second?”

 

“Gansey, I’m sorry, but I  _ really _ need to get back--” Adam bent down to grab his discarded shoes, tugging his feet into them as he frowned apologetically to Gansey. “Thank you for your help.”

 

“You’ve been gone for  _ months _ !”

 

“I know, I’m sorry. But now is  _ really _ not a good time, Gansey.”

 

Ever annoying, Gansey followed him out the front door, jumping in front of Adam to stop his progression back to the forest. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but you can’t just leave! You need to call Blue.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you’ve been gone for  _ months!” _ Gansey repeated, tone rising. It was rather shocking. Adam had never heard Gansey raise his voice, not even when Blue told him she found the story of King Arthur dull and misogynistic. “You need to call her! She’s been worried about you.”

 

“You can tell her I’m fine, then,” Adam insisted, pushing past him.

 

“That’s not fair, Adam.”

 

_ Well, neither is Ronan dying after I only just found him! _ Adam thought. Gansey wouldn’t understand, though, and neither would Blue. He’d apologize later, but he had to get back. Adam quickened his pace, turning the corner of the house, and he said, “I’ll come back next week. I promise.”

 

“Adam--”

 

Gansey crashed into his back. Adam’s feet had stopped on their own accord, and it took his brain a moment to understand why. Adam blinked rapidly, eyes crossing, as he stared at the forest. It was there, and then it wasn’t. Solid, then nothing. The moment he thought he saw it, the next he was sure it was gone. 

 

Adam rubbed his eyes. “What the hell?”

 

Suddenly, there was no more confusion. Adam was staring at an empty piece of grass, stretching out into an empty field where horses grazed. Adam could feel his heart skip a beat and it squeezed his chest, a pain worse than he’d felt from it before. 

 

“No… No, no, no.” Adam turned in the opposite direction, stumbling over his feet. Maybe he’d gotten the wrong side of the house. Maybe he was turned around. Distantly, he could hear Gansey following after him, calling his name. Adam reached the other side of the house, only to find a swimming pool.

 

“No.  _ No, fuck, no!”  _ It was the only word Adam could think. He ran around the house, searching wildly for the forest. Eventually he stumbled back to the original location of the forest, only to be met with the same empty field.

 

“Adam--”

 

“Gansey, where the fuck did it go?  _ Where the fuck did it go?” _ Adam’s hands shook. He turned to Gansey, who was staring at Adam with a helpless expression, and yelled,  _ “Where’s the forest?” _

 

“Adam, you need to calm down--”

 

But Adam didn’t calm down. Instead, what started as a dull ache weeks ago, the spike of adrenaline, breath catching in his throat, the feeling of his heart exploding in his chest, stalled for one quiet moment. Just enough time for him to think,  _ Ronan.  _ And then, all at once, Adam wasn’t breathing. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, the angst begins.
> 
> (Going to aim to update in a few days, but next chapter has a scene I have to rewrite, so we'll see.)


	11. Time was Never Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple warnings about this chapter:
> 
> 1\. Adam starts the chapter by having a panic attack. It's not very descriptive, but it's there.
> 
> 2\. This is not a fun chapter, just to warn you. Remember that, as much as this story is a romance, it's really about Adam dealing with his abuse and trying to move past it. I based this story a lot on my own experience with recovering from abuse, and what I really wanted to show is that recovery is not a consistent, upward slope of improvement. 
> 
> 3\. Despite that, I tried to pepper in a few moments of relief. They are moments of vaguely mature moments, if you catch my drift. ;)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Breathe, Adam.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Adam didn’t want to breathe._

 

_He wanted to keep kissing Ronan._

 

_“We need to stop,” Ronan said, breaking away from Adam. He was panting, and despite his words, his hands were still roaming Adam’s bareback. They always ended up like this: Adam, shirtless, Ronan, fully clothed. “If we don’t stop now, then I don’t think I can resist.”_

 

_“Did you have to say that in the sexiest way possible?” Adam wrapped his hands around Ronan’s suspenders and tugged him close. They were horrible to wear, but God did he like the way suspenders looked against a pressed white shirt and dark trousers. Specifically on Ronan. “I don’t want you to stop.”_

 

_“There’s no reason to rush,” Ronan said, hands spreading across Adam’s chest, then down his biceps, and then Ronan’s lips were back on his skin, specifically at his rib. Adam enjoyed the view of Ronan bent over, played with the image of Ronan sinking to his knees, but the daydream broke when Ronan ripped his lips away. “Please, please, put your shirt on. It’s too much.”_

 

 _“Take a moment to recall your behavior in London, and then you’ll know why I don’t feel guilty in the slightest,” Adam said, though he took a step back. “Anyway, one could argue that we’ve done nothing_ but _take our time. Fifty years, give or take.”_

 

_“One could,” Ronan agreed, pulling Adam right back to him. Ronan’s hand slipped into Adam’s, the other at his waist. Then, Ronan pressed his lips to his hearing ear and hummed into it. “One also could say that taking our time will prolong the fun.”_

 

_Ronan continued to hum and it turned melodious. They began to sway, a small waltz in the middle of Ronan’s tiny kitchen, though neither picked their feet off the ground._

 

_“I’m happy to wait, and I’ll wait as long as you need,” Adam said. “But just so you’re clear, I don’t think I’d ever get tired of being with you.”_

 

_“Everyone says that at first.”_

 

_“I’m not everyone. When I want something, I never let it go.”_

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Adam, hey, try to look at me, okay? I need you to breathe, Adam. You’re not breathing.”

 

Cold hands pressed onto his cheeks. Adam saw Gansey’s eyes and tried to focus on them, knowing, somehow, that he wasn’t ready to handle breathing yet. Gansey’s eyes were hazel. Had they always been hazel? Gansey seemed like the type of guy who’d have blue eyes.

 

_The forest is gone. Ronan is gone. The forest is gone. Ronan is gone._

 

“Adam, I’m going to count out loud and I want you to breathe along with me. Can you do this? Adam, please give it a try, okay?”

 

Distantly, Adam realized he’d been shaking his head. _No, he could not do this. He could not be without Ronan again. He’d gone too far._ Things were starting to get a little blurry, now. How was he supposed to breathe at a time like this? Adam was suffocating, he’d been running and running, trying to save Ronan, and what good was oxygen when there wasn’t life where he was?

 

“I need you to breathe in for four counts. Here we go. One… two… three… four…”

 

_You left Ronan again. You left Ronan in the past and you let him die, Adam._

 

No, no, no. _Take a shitty breath in, anything, anything. You can find a way to save him, somehow. The forest can come back, it did before._

 

“Okay, that’s good, Adam. Now I want you to exhale. Same thing. One… two… three… four... “

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Ronan was mouthing at his neck, breath hot on his skin. When Adam tried to move up against him, Ronan planted his palm on Adam’s waist to press him firmly against the car._

 

_Everything had started innocently enough. Ronan’s car wouldn’t start and Adam offered to look at it. Ronan kept his distance the whole time - stayed leaning against the counter of the garage as Adam rolled his sleeves to his elbows and looked under the hood - until Adam made the mistake of rubbing his forearm against his forehead. He trailed grease along it. Ronan had huffed in complaint._

 

_“Stop that,” he muttered._

 

 _“Stop_ what?”

 

_Ronan sauntered closer, hands in pockets, and changed the conversation. “So you just know how to fix cars? Any car?”_

 

_“Pretty much. If not, I can usually figure it out.”_

 

_“And they didn’t pay you handsomely? Does everybody know how to do this in the future?”_

 

_Adam snorted and answered both questions with an easy, “Yeah, right.”_

 

_“But this is hard work,” Ronan countered. He was pointing his finger at the engine as if he were chastising it. “This takes talent. And training. How could they not pay you well for this?”_

 

_“I don’t know. I guess a lot of people can do it or something. All I know is that it barely paid the bills.”_

 

_Ronan frowned but didn’t argue further. Adam popped the top button of his collar, the stuffiness of the garage and getting his hands dirty making him overheated. He didn’t miss how Ronan’s eyes trailed the motion. Adam cleared his throat, hiding his grin, and looked to the back of the garage. No one was around, but that didn’t mean they were alone._

 

_“It is a rare skill here. I’m sure they would pay you well.” Ronan quickly touched his thumb to the smear of grease on Adam’s forehead. “If you…wanted to stay.”_

 

_Adam didn’t realize the gravity of the question in time to keep the look of displeasure off his face. He was too caught in the idea of fixing cars for the rest of his life to recognize what Ronan had implied. Ronan’s face darkened quickly and Adam dug his fists into his shirt and pulled him back._

 

_“Wait, no. I like the idea of staying. Just not fixing cars,” he said quickly. “I just-- I don’t want to do that forever.”_

 

_“It doesn’t make you happy?”_

 

_Adam released his grip and smoothed the wrinkles he’d created in Ronan’s shirt. “No. It’s just… This is going to make me sound like an ass to you, but it’s too easy. I want something that challenges me.”_

 

_Ronan shut his eyes and stepped closer to Adam, crowding him closer to the car. He inhaled slow, nose at Adam’s neck. “What’s your obsession with always being challenged? You need to relax.”_

 

_Adam kept his eyes on the door over Ronan’s shoulder. The owner of the shop had said they were free to use it for the afternoon. Adam had no idea how long they’d be alone. Ronan began to unbutton the rest of Adam’s shirt, his lips dragging to Adam’s neck._

 

_“If I didn’t like a challenge then I wouldn’t be with you,” Adam breathed._

 

_Ronan seemed to have a thing for being teased. Which was how Adam found himself in the compromising position of being planted against a car, squirming, as Ronan sucked at his neck. But once Ronan’s hand was at his waist and he was good and trapped, Adam stilled._

 

_“Your car is never going to get fixed this way,” Adam warned._

 

_Into his hearing ear, Ronan whispered, “Breaks are a very important part of every worker’s day, Adam.”_

 

 _Ronan’s hand dipped from Adam’s waist to somewhere lower. They’d been toeing the line lately, pushing the boundaries more and more. Ronan was usually so careful, both in public displays of affection_ and _sexual intimacy. His sudden bravado took Adam aback._

 

_But not enough that he couldn’t enjoy it._

 

_As Ronan palmed at him, Adam hid his shuddered breath and said, “I meant it, though. About staying here.”_

 

_Ronan pulled back to gaze at Adam. He said, “And you’ll be satisfied?”_

_Adam shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied. But that’s the point-- Jesus, fuck, Ronan, that feels-- um.”_

 

_“You were saying?”_

 

_“When-- when I’m with you I always want more.”_

 

_Ronan’s smile was raw. Adam wanted to ask about it - because despite the way his lips turned upward, something about it seemed wrong. Almost sad. But then Ronan changed the angle of his wrist and Adam found it hard to think about anything._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They counted breaths. And counted breaths. And counted breaths.

  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
Adam hadn’t cried since he was twelve. The inciting incident had involved letting something burn on the stovetop for too long, and something shitty was said that included the word “useless.” He only remembered because the word lingered longer than most, and Adam prided himself on being anything but useless. So he chewed on that word, dissected it from every angle, compared it to his 12-year-old self and decided that the only useless thing about Adam Parrish was his tendency to cry himself to sleep.

 

So he’d stopped crying. It wasn’t always easy, though. He’d have to pinch the skin on his wrists or dig his nails into his palm, but at some point Adam Parrish got very good at not crying.

 

And yet here he was, Adam Parrish, crying. In Richard Campbell Gansey the Third’s arms, no less, as the boy patted his back and murmured, “You’ve got this, Adam.” How absurd was this whole situation?  One minute - panic attack. The next - sobbing.

 

The worst part was he couldn’t get himself to leave Gansey’s side. His legs felt wobbly, his chest was sour. His throat was burning, either from hyperventilating or holding back the tears, and it only soothed when Gansey rushed inside to get him some water. Helen was staring at them from the porch, fingers poised at her phone, lips pinched tight. She looked ready to speak but never did. A small blessing for the horrific afternoon.

 

 _You left Ronan in the past. He was_ dying.

 

Gansey pressed the cold class to his palm and said, “Drink.”

 

“Gansey,” Adam croaked. “Where is it?”

 

“We’ll figure it out,” Gansey said. Even post panic-attack, Adam knew this to be untrue, yet somehow Gansey’s steady tone put him at ease. Or maybe it was the firm grasp of Gansey’s hand on his shoulder. “Can you come inside?”

 

“I’ve got nowhere else to go,” Adam muttered.

 

Gansey walked ahead of him to whisper something to Helen. She left the entrance of the house with pursed lips, clearly wanting to know the drama.

 

What proceeded was an extremely long evening. Gansey had called Blue - who decided, quite immediately, to abandon university to come down and see him - but that still left Adam and Gansey alone for several hours. Gansey, thankfully, had the sensibility to not ask questions about the past, though he clearly wanted to. Instead, they filled as much of the silence as they could with discussion of Blue, and when there was nothing more to say about her, Gansey abruptly asked, “Have you ever heard of Glendower?”

 

“Can’t say I have.”

 

“Can I tell you about him?”

 

Adam sighed. “Sure.”

 

Despite the ridiculous topic at hand - a dead, Welsh king who Gansey was convinced was buried somewhere in America - Adam was grateful. As Adam laid back against the plush carpeting of Gansey’s room and stared at the ceiling, every time his thoughts slipped into dangerous territory - _you abandoned Ronan, you killed Ronan, it’s your fault -_ Gansey would pull him back with a tale of his travels.

 

Still, when Blue burst into the house several hours later, Adam was grateful.

 

He always felt better with Blue’s arms around him.

 

* * *

 

If time was meaningless to Ronan, it was never-ending to Adam. How long had Adam existed since leaving Paris? He kept track on a calendar because otherwise it was impossible to know.

 

Before leaving for Paris, Adam had been leasing a fully-furnished apartment from Blue’s aunt, Persephone. He had hated that place, with the exception of the afternoon visits of tea and pie he shared with his landlord, because it wasn’t a home. It _looked_ like one - with floral curtains, matching bedsheets, and a fully stocked kitchen - but none of it was his. Having a scholarship meant Adam had to live on campus every year of college so he’d never had to buy his own things. At 24, he thought he’d have a place of his own, with his own decadent furnishings, picked specifically for his style. But without a job, Adam didn’t feel comfortable agreeing to a yearly lease, and Persephone offered a good deal.

 

He had expected Persephone to have rented it out to someone else in his absence, but once he was back in Virginia, Persephone had phoned him and said, “When are you coming back, dear? I knew you wouldn’t be gone for long so I didn’t rent it to anyone else.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Adam said. “I’ll pay you back for the missed rent.”

 

“No need,” Persephone said. “I’ve been charging you extra all this time to account for your absence. It’s actually $300 a month.”

 

Being back in the apartment was miserable but he liked it that way. Adam shut the curtains and slept, and slept, and slept. Distantly, Adam realized he was depressed, but every time he thought about forcing himself out of bed, or calling Blue, or going to the store, his brain kicked in and argued, _What’s the point? Ronan is dead._

 

Sometimes, on good days, Adam would tell himself, no, Ronan could still be alive. Maybe he didn’t find Adam in the future because he just hated him. After all, Adam had abandoned him for a second time and it was always Ronan’s fear that Adam would leave. What had he said so long ago? _“You can court me, if you like, and in a month, when you realize I’m not what you want, I’ll figure out a way to keep existing.”_

 

That would be better, wouldn’t it? For Ronan to simply hate him? It was a fair reaction. Anyway, Adam hated himself, too.

 

After a month of self-loathing and doing nothing, Adam ran out of money. He debated calling up Boyd - seeing if he could get his old mechanic job back, regardless of his degree. It seemed easier. Fixing cars had become second-nature to Adam. It would be easy enough to slip back into it, to do a quick oil-change as he counted the hundreds of reasons he hated himself. _One, abandoning Ronan. Two, overthinking every-God-fucking-thing. Three, letting your last conversation with two of your best friends be criticizing them about their smoking habits._

 

Eventually, though, he caved to a worse - but perhaps even easier - fate. Gansey told him there was a position open in his father’s company, complete with a moving bonus. Adam accepted. He found a cramped, studio apartment just outside DC and moved there a week later.

 

It was this, out of everything, that made Blue storm into apartment with worry. “You need to talk to someone.”

 

“I’m fine,” Adam said.

 

“You’re _not._ You accepted a job from _Gansey._ ”

 

“What do you want from me, Blue?” He threw an empty cardboard box from the cheap shelving unit he got at Ikea against the wall. “You used to hound me about _making connections_ and now, when I’ve gone and done it, I’m shit?”

 

“You’re not _shit,_ ” Blue countered. She pressed her palm to her forehead and sighed. “It’s not-- I’m just worried about you, Adam. You come home, clearly heartbroken and apparently having panic attacks, you don’t answer your phone, you take a job that’s completely against your moral principles--”

 

“I’m fine,” Adam repeated.

 

Blue fell to his bed and folded her hands together. “Will you at least talk to me about it? About _him?”_

 

“There’s nothing to say.” He turned away from her to unpack some dishware. He’d gotten good at keeping his voice steady by now. It had all began to feel a little numb. “I had something really great, and then I lost it, as usual. There’s nothing you can do or say to make it better.”

 

Blue was silent for too long, enough to prove that he’d stumped her. She came up with a response eventually, though it felt like an amateur attempt.

 

“It would still help to talk about it,” Blue insisted. “Keeping everything bottled up inside you isn’t healthy, Adam.”

 

He knew she was right. What Blue didn’t understand was that he’d decided months ago that this would be his punishment. He was the one who fucked up, who left when he never should have. If Ronan had to suffer alone, sick and possibly dying, then Adam could suffer with his guilt. It was only fair.

 

* * *

 

It was easy to slip into his job. Go to the office, run the calculations or survey the building sites, send emails to clients about the progress of their construction projects. Come home, heat up a tv dinner, pick at it while he watched reruns. Sleep early. Again. Again. Again.

 

Sometimes Adam broke up his days by going to the library to research. Looking up Ronan was pointless. Declan had done a good job of covering their scent all those years ago, and if still alive, Adam ventured he was doing a good job of it now. There were thousands of Ronan Lynches around the world in 2016, and Adam had no way of knowing whether Ronan even _used_ his real name.

 

He typed in the name of the club one day. Nothing. Unsurprising. Ronan was good at secrets, and as such, his club stayed secret, too.

 

There was information on Noah and Henry, though. Adam was able to trace the Czerny name to Virginia, where - if Adam’s research was correct - Noah’s great-grandaughters lived. There was little about his life except that he immigrated to America in 1939, making his residence in New York, before eventually moved South. He was not listed as married, but based on his legacy, Adam could only assume he’d married a woman. It sat uncomfortably in Adam’s stomach, the thought. He had never asked whether Noah was gay or bisexual, though, so he tried to tell himself it was possible he could have been quite happy married to a woman. (Adam didn’t want to think about what it meant for Henry.) Noah had died fairly young, at 65. Cause unknown.

 

Thankfully, though, Henry seemed to have done well for himself. Though it appeared he never married, at least not legally on paper, Adam found a newspaper article from the 1950s describing an extremely wealthy marketing executive living in Vancouver. There was a picture of him, older but unmistakably Henry based on his ever-ridiculous outfit, grinning into the camera. Adam could find no record of his death and hoped, perhaps naively, that he was still alive. He would have to be at least 90, but it were possible.

 

Sometimes, Adam thought about locating Henry and calling him up. To try and visit him. To ask whether Ronan had survived the sickness. But what would that do but frighten and confuse an old man? Ultimately it was the fear that stopped Adam from reaching out. He wasn’t ready to find out the truth about Ronan. He got through the rougher days convincing himself that Ronan was somehow still alive, and that maybe, someday, he’d forgive Adam and find him again.

 

But time passed and Ronan never showed up.

 

* * *

 

 

About 8 months after his return, Blue and Gansey asked him to dinner. They were on edge all evening. Gansey had knocked over the salt and pepper shakers three times and almost caught his sleeve on fire, while Blue was being usually snippy. He wondered if they had had an argument right before dinner.

 

It wasn’t until Blue had taken Gansey’s hand and said, “Adam, um, we have something we wanted to tell you,” that Adam suddenly realized. _Oh._ No. They weren’t mad at each other, they were just _nervous._

 

He put it together quickly. Adam didn’t have it in him to fake excitement. “Are you engaged?”

 

They both nodded, smiles tight. Adam added it as another reason to hate himself to his list. Number fifteen: _you made your friends nervous to tell you about their wonderful news_ , and number sixteen: _you can’t even be happy about your friends’ wonderful news._

 

“That’s great,” Adam said, knowing his tone to be unconvincing but unable to summon any genuine emotion. “When’s, uh, when’s the wedding?”

 

“We’re hoping to squeeze for an October wedding,” Gansey said, looking to Blue for confirmation. “It’ll be a bit tough, but Blue will be graduating at the end of August and we want to go on a long, several-month backpacking trip around South America before she gets stuck in a job. We thought we could make the trip be a honeymoon.”

 

“Wow. Congratulations.”

 

Blue cleared her throat in an obvious signal. Gansey mentioned something about needing to use the restroom, and also to give his compliments to the chef, and left the two alone. Blue was smoothing down her hair - which had gotten quite long and looked rather boring and normal, just curled to the side - before her hands went to her cloth napkin. She wrung it in her hands.

 

“Were you afraid to tell me?” Adam asked, bite in his tone.

 

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

 

“Why? Did you think I’d be jealous? Blue, I thought it was clear that I’m way over our relationship.”

 

Blue leveled her gaze at him and threw her napkin aside. “Yeah, you made that abundantly clear a while ago, remember? Sorry, I just thought it might be hard for you, seeing us get married, when you can’t be with the man _you_ love.”

 

Adam shut his eyes. He didn’t want to think about this, let alone _talk_ about it. “I’m not a child. If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

 

“I am happy,” Blue confirmed. Her words were clipped.

 

“Great.”

 

For such a supposedly _happy_ occasion, the air was thick. Neither person seemed pleased with one another. Blue pushed around her peas with her fork, sneaking looks at Adam, as he sat stewing. Blue kept looking at the front of the restaurant, probably searching for Gansey, as she gnawed at her lip.

 

“There’s something else I want to talk to you about,” Blue said. “So, Gansey really likes you. He thinks you’re great, which, you are, so no surprise. We were talking about the wedding party the other day and he mentioned… well, he was hoping you’d be one of his groomsmen.”

 

Adam couldn't keep the displeasure off his face. _“Why?”_

 

Blue was clearly unamused by his reaction. Her eyes flitted upward in frustration but, perhaps knowing it was a delicate situation, she simply bit the inside of her cheek. “Well, _again_ , because he likes you. You’re one of his friends.”

 

“Really? We barely know each other.” Adam found the whole idea very odd. He thought it was obvious by now that they were simply friends _because_ of Blue, and that was it.

 

“You don’t have to look _so_ shocked. Jesus, Adam. You guys hang out at work, and you’ve bonded over some, uh, serious moments.” When Adam’s look of skepticism didn’t waver, Blue waved her hand in the air. “I mean, yeah, okay, you aren’t the best of friends. I know. But Gansey isn’t your normal guy when it comes to friendships. For being so personable, he only has, like, two solid friendships. Some rich friend he met when he was in high school and this old guy who befriended Gansey when he was fourteen and traveling abroad.”

 

 _“What?_ That’s kind of creepy. _”_

 

“I don’t know. I have been emphatically told it is. _Not. Weird._ And I remain unconvinced, but whatever. I’ve met him. He’s cranky, not creepy.” Blue sighed. “Listen, I get that it’s a bit weird. But would you just consider it? I want you two to be friends.”

 

Resentment had been curdling in his stomach for some time now, even before he found out they were engaged, and it suddenly felt too much to bear. It was sitting there, growing heavy, making him sick. It pooled out of him.

 

“Well, I _don’t,_ ” he snapped. “Jesus, Blue. I thought that’s been obvious this whole time.”

 

Her eyes darted around the restaurant, seemingly worried about causing a scene. It was a look she seemed to steal straight from her boyfriend -- or, fuck -- her _fiance._ She hissed, _“What is your problem with him?”_

 

“I’m allowed to not like the guy.”

 

“No, sorry, but that’s bullshit. I think you decided to dislike him the moment you met him and you’re too stubborn to admit you were wrong about him.”

 

Adam folded his arms and sat back in his seat, glaring at her. “Oh, come off it, Blue. When we were in high school all you did was complain about guys like Gansey. The rich-elite who think polos are a good look, who have summer homes and maids to clean up their messes.”

 

“I was wrong, okay? I made quick judgments when I shouldn’t have. Anyway, that was _years_ ago, Adam. I’m allowed to change.” He snorted unkindly at that. Blue reared her head back and said, “What was _that_ for?”

 

“Well, it’s just an understatement. I barely recognized you these days. You let Gansey turn you into a completely different person.”

 

_“Excuse me?”_

 

“Your hair. Your clothes.” Adam gestured to her smooth hair, to the nice dress she was wearing. God, it was a _floral print._ “What happened to the hand-made clothes?”

 

“I grew up and got a job that pays me enough so I can buy my own clothes,” Blue snapped. It seemed that Gansey’s influence on her had ended, because suddenly she didn’t seem worried about keeping her voice low. “I’m not allowed to want nice things? That’s all _you_ used to talk about.”

 

“Yeah, but I _always_ wanted that. You didn’t seem to care until you started dating Gansey.”

 

“Oh, come on.”

 

“If you need more reasons, I’m happy to help. You go to fancy parties all the time--”

 

_“It’s called being a good girlfriend.”_

 

“And is letting your boyfriend call you by a _different name_ part of being a good girlfriend too?” Adam countered. “He calls you _Jane!_ And you let him! What the fuck is _that_ about?”

 

“You know, Adam, for someone who has taken absolutely _no_ interest in our relationship, you’ve got a lot of nerve acting like you know anything about it.”

 

Adam shook his head. This was getting out of control and yet the words kept surging out of him. “Sorry. I guess I should have just kept my mouth shut, instead of being honest with my best friend that I don’t even recognize her anymore.”

 

Blue sneered at him. “Yeah, well maybe you just don’t recognize what I look like when I’m actually happy in a relationship.”

 

Oh.

 

Adam’s hands dropped to hang loose at his side. He blinked, too stunned to really react, but within a second he began to turn the phrase around in his head. _You don’t recognize what I look like when I’m actually happy in a relationship._ Adam wasn’t stupid, obviously he had known Blue was unhappy in their relationship, otherwise why would she have broken up with him? But that wound had finally recovered, after years of Adam picking at his own scab, and he’d thought it was impossible to snag a scar back open. He knew, instantly, how naive that was.

 

To her credit, the moment the words slipped from her mouth, Blue instantly tried to claim them back. She lept up from her chair and circled the table, grabbing one of his hands.

 

“No, no, no, wait, Adam, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t meant it. I don’t know why I said that--”

 

He pulled away from her to stand up from the table. “I, um, I should go.”

 

“No, Adam, _please,_ _please don’t go.”_ Blue clasped her hands together and held them to her mouth. Her eyes were glassy. “I was mad. I say stupid shit when I’m mad, you know that.”

 

“It’s fine,” Adam muttered. He grabbed his coat. “I, um, I’ll talk to you later.”

 

“Adam--”

 

He left before she could say anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite her stinging words, Adam couldn’t afford the ability to be mad at Blue for long. She was his only friend, after all, and logically, Adam knew he was in no position to turn people away. He thought time would heal the ache in his heart - to make his want for Ronan lessen, or to take the weight of his guilt from his shoulders - but time had clearly abandoned Adam long ago. It may have favored him once, but that time was gone.

 

One evening, as he chewed at a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while watching some cooking show, it occurred to Adam that he couldn’t recognize himself anymore. Who was Adam Parrish without a goal? Without any ambition? It only made him hate himself more. How had he survived years and years of abuse, but he couldn’t get over one person?

 

So he attempted to forgive Blue. He supposed it wasn’t anything new, though. One of Adam’s earliest life lessons was learning that people would disappoint you, especially those who claimed to love you. Anyway, it wasn’t like Blue meant to be vindictive or evil. She wasn’t his father, who fed his ego by pushing Adam down, or even his mother, who lost her right for forgiveness by repeating her offenses over and over. Blue made a mistake. She apologized.

 

Still, it changed something between them. They were back to their pre-college days. Blue was hesitant around him, always walking on eggshells. He wasn’t sure whether it was due to her regret, or if she didn’t know how to handle Adam when he was wrapped in depression’s cocoon.

 

Because of this change, embarrassingly, Adam found it almost easier to hang out with Gansey. Blue either didn’t tell Gansey about their fight or Gansey was skilled in diplomacy enough to press forward, because he hardly seemed different. He talked about the wedding, of course, but mostly he sent articles to Adam and asked his opinion. _I found this article about ley lines that claims they derive their power from the orbit of the moon. This can’t be true, can it?_ or _Would you take a look at this poem I found? It was uncovered recently and said to be about Glendower, and I want a second opinion on my analysis of its meaning._

 

Gansey still hadn’t officially asked Adam to be his groomsman, though, and Adam didn’t know if he’d given up on the idea or was waiting for a good opportunity. The latter seemed more likely, especially when Gansey asked if Adam wanted to take a road trip with him to Connecticut. According to Gansey, there was a woman in New London who’d had an interesting experience with electromagnetic waves and was willing to discuss it with him. Adam was reluctant to go - after all, his relationship with Gansey was a tentative friendship at best, and road trips seemed better suited for lifelong bffs who’d just graduated high school - yet Adam found himself agreeing.

 

He hadn’t been back to Connecticut since graduating and he missed the state. Plus, he’d run out of microwavable dinners and didn’t feel like going to the store.

 

Thus, the first weekend in August, Adam packed his bag with a couple outfits and tucked himself into Gansey’s awful and perfect convertible. The trip was… difficult, in many ways, and easy in others. It was the most human interaction, sans work encounters, that Adam had had since leaving Paris. He’d grown accustomed to being alone and found it difficult to be surrounded by another person’s presence for hours. Thankfully Gansey seemed attuned to his moods. As soon as Adam felt overwhelmed, Gansey would put on music and stop talking.

 

They stopped at Yale, where Adam gave Gansey a quick tour of his favorite college spots. Gansey insisted on trying a sandwich place a friend of his had recommended, a hole-in-the-wall shop that Adam had visited often, and it was sobering to watch Gansey eat a meatball sub. Somehow he didn’t get a lick of sauce on his fingers and Adam obsessed over it for too long.

 

Instead of a hotel, apparently Gansey had chosen to rent a small cottage a bit outside New Haven. It was dark when they finally arrived, leaving Adam little view of the place other than the edge of a corn field and the noisy wind chime on the front porch, and Adam was resolved to explore it in the morning. Inside, the cottage looked lived in, with kitschy furnishings like plaques that read “Home Sweet Home” and a bouquet of fake flowers in the center table, and yet Gansey took one look at the place, breathed deeply, and sighed in satisfaction.

 

In the morning Adam hit snooze only once. By the time he showered and wandered downstairs it was only seven, and based on how he’d heard Gansey tinkering downstairs well into the night, he assumed he’d be the first up. Instead, he found Gansey nursing a cup of coffee while scribbling in his journal.

 

“You’re up,” Adam said.

 

Gansey hummed. “Never quite went _down_. How’d you sleep?”

 

“Oh, uh, good. Did you want to take off pretty soon? I was hoping to walk around the place.”

 

Gansey shoved his glasses up his nose and smiled cheerfully. “I’m not in a rush. You should definitely look around, I love it here.”

 

After downing his own cup of coffee and eating a few powdered donuts they’d gotten at a gas station on the drive up, Adam wandered off the porch. The house was small but the land large, reminding Adam faintly of Ireland all those years ago. Around the back of the house was a large grassy field where horses grazed, several of which trotted up to the fence to peer at Adam, clearly hoping for food. Despite not being able to offer any treats, a chestnut horse let Adam run his hand down her mane.

 

Once the horses left Adam continued his exploration of the area. In the front, as he had seen, was a giant field of corn. It was nothing special, he realized, and yet Adam found himself wanting to walk through the maze of plants. Having nothing better to do Adam humored his unusual desire, being careful to walk straight so that he didn’t get lost.

 

Halfway through the field the hairs on his arms stood. There was a buzz in his deaf ear. Adam pressed his finger to it, confused, until he stepped out of the cornfield and saw the forest.

 

Cabeswater was reaching out to him. Adam stood frozen, unable to meet the branches swaying toward him. His mouth was dry. _Cabeswater. The past. Ronan._

 

Instead of entering it, Adam fell to the ground. He sat, staring at the forest, unwilling to look away. _Ronan. Ronan. Ronan._ Surely, if Cabeswater was appearing to him, it meant Ronan was alive on the other side. Unless it wanted him to see the destruction he left behind.

 

Time was never-ending to Adam.

 

At some point - maybe minutes, maybe hours later - Gansey appeared at his side. He sat down next to Adam, clearly having noticed the forest, and covered his mouth with his hand, humming low. Adam had pulled himself into a ball by this point, arms tightly wrapped around his knees.

 

Gansey said, “That’s it, right?”

 

Adam nodded.

 

“Are you going to go in?”

 

Without warning, Adam was overwhelmed with the urge to cry. He hadn’t let it happen since his panic attack and he didn’t fancy showing Gansey that side of him again. Still, Adam had to press the back of his hand to his mouth to hide his shaky breath.

 

“Do you want to see him again?” Gansey asked slowly.

 

Adam looked at his hands. “He might not be there. And I don’t-- If he’s not there, I don’t think I could…”

 

Gansey nodded. He was still wearing his glasses, which he took off to clean, perhaps as a way to gather his thoughts. Once they were perched again on his nose, Gansey inhaled slowly and said, “It could be the closure you need.”

 

“And if he’s alive?” Adam licked his lip. “If he’s alive then I’m never coming back. How could I? The forest disappeared on me once, I couldn’t risk it again. And then what? What will Blue say? I couldn’t even say goodbye.”

 

Gansey exhaled loudly again. In an uncharacteristic move, he uttered, “Fuck.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They both stared at the forest now. After a few minutes of silence, Gansey turned to Adam and said, “I think you should go in.”

 

“But Blue--”

 

“Is not who matters at this moment,” Gansey finished. “I love Blue. I would do almost anything to make her happy. But this is about you and your happiness, not hers. It’s about you finding the closure that you need, in whatever way that is. And you deserve it, Adam. You’re an exceedingly kind person who deserves happiness.” Gansey nudged his body into Adam’s shoulder. “You should go after what you want.”

 

Adam’s throat felt tight. “But I _am_ an ass. To you, in particular.”

 

Gansey laughed, genuine and light. “Yeah, well, I seem to attract assholes, I guess.”

 

Adam pressed his palm into his eye, wiping away a tear he didn’t realize he had. Gansey stood and pulled up Adam after him.“I’ll think of something to tell Blue. And if all else fails, I’ll say it was my fault. She’ll assume it was anyway.”

 

“Thanks, Gansey.”

 

“I’ll stay in the area for a few days, just in case.” Gansey extended his fist. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Adam.”

 

Adam felt a fistbump to be the entirely wrong sentiment for their current situation, but he met Gansey’s fist all the same. “If this is the last time we see each other--”

 

Gansey shrugged him off with a small smile. “Nonsense. It won’t be. Nor for you and Blue, either. We’ll meet again some day, I have a good feeling.”

 

* * *

 

 

This visit to the past started easier than most, mainly because he knew exactly where he was. Apparently Yale didn’t change much over the years. It lulled him into a sense of security to walk down the same row of trees or past the same buildings. Distantly, he knew people were looking at him strangely - perhaps at his hoodie, or maybe even the cell phone he had clenched in his hand. He didn’t care. Adam just kept walking, walking, walking, because at some point Ronan had to appear. And if he didn’t, then Adam knew what it meant.

 

Idly, he noticed the atmosphere seemed tense. People were rushing around while looking over their shoulders and speaking in hushed tones over newspapers. Several buildings were poorly boarded up. He ignored it. For once, Adam didn’t care about what time it was. He was in the past for Ronan and nothing more.

 

Adam wandered and wandered - past men and women in berets and full military regalia, past men in tailored suits that sat lower on the waist than the 20s, and women in collared dresses cinched tight at the waist - until he was struck by a small bar just outside the college. It called to him, the faint buzzing from earlier returning, and so he followed it.

 

The bar was packed. Adam walked through it, dazed, feeling like he’d done this before. In another time he’d entered a club, pushed through hordes of bodies that suffocated him, just to follow Ronan’s path. As Adam gently shoved his way through the crowds he saw someone from the back. He was tall and his shoulders were wide, hair buzzed short but clearly very dark.

 

Adam felt dead and alive, somehow. Numb. Disoriented by the sounds of people cheering over drinks, from the old radio in the back playing something heavy on the brass, and from the smell of whisky, Adam reached his hand out to the man’s shoulder. He turned.

 

The eyes weren’t as blue - it wasn’t Ronan.

 

But it was close.

 

The similarities between Ronan and his older brother were far more obvious without the mustache Declan had sported in London. Declan’s jaw - a bit stronger than Ronan’s, more square - was clenched as he looked up and down Adam’s body.

 

Adam didn’t expect Declan to remember him. He stepped back in shock when Declan said, “You.”

 

Behind Declan was a beautiful woman. She was perched on a bar stool, one slim leg crossed over the other, and nursing a beer. Her blonde hair was curled perfectly beneath a bright red beret, the same color that trimmed her dress and adorned her nails and lips. At the sound of Declan’s stern tone, she set her drink down and leaned to get a better look at Adam.

 

Still in a stupor, Adam asked, “You remember me?”

 

Declan’s neck jerked, but only slightly. It was such a telling warning sign despite Declan’s effort to be subtle.

 

“How could I forget?” Declan said. His voice was alarmingly civil and the quick darting of his eyes around the room told Adam why. Though unintentional, the bar was a good choice. Safer. “You left my brother not once, but twice.”

 

Adam swallowed. Declan’s eyes traced Adam’s moments, like he was planning to reach down into his throat to pull out the lump stuck inside, only to choke Adam on it once more. Instead, Declan merely gripped his drink tight.

 

“Ronan. Is he…?” Adam couldn’t finish the sentence. Is he here? _Alive?_

 

It was apparently the wrong thing to say. Declan abandoned his drink and leaned forward, digging his fist into the collar of Adam’s shirt. It was an unexpectedly public reaction, one that earned looks from several people around them.

 

Declan hissed, “Don’t you say a goddamn thing about him, you hear?”

 

The woman behind Declan pointedly cleared her throat. Declan released him, eyes darting around the room, but the glare on his face didn’t disappear. Adam couldn’t tell what Declan’s anger meant and he wished he would just say something, anything, about how Ronan was doing.

 

With a quick look to the woman, Declan downed the rest of his beer. He then gathered his jacket and offered his arm to the blonde, muttering something only she could hear.

 

“Wait, Declan--” Adam followed him out of the bar, pushing past people with little care. People were staring at him strangely but Adam didn’t have it in him to care. So what if he made a scene? “I need to know about him. About Ronan.”

 

Once outside Declan whirled on Adam, pushing him against the side of the building. “Don’t make me say it again. I don’t want to hear my brother’s name on your lips.”

 

His companion rolled her eyes at the aggression, clucking her tongue. Despite her annoyance, however, she still found time to adjust her beret before she rested her manicured hand on his shoulder. Declan released Adam.

 

Adam felt stuck to the wall, as if Declan still had him trapped. “Declan, _please._ I know I don’t deserve it, but I just need to know--”

 

“Where he is? No, I won’t let you come back and fuck with him again,” Declan snarled. “He’s happy finally. He’s in a relationship. Leave him be for once in your life.”

 

Adam’s legs gave out underneath him. He slid against the wall, dazed, and replayed Declan’s words in his head. _He’s happy finally. He’s in a relationship._

 

Ronan was alive.

 

“Jesus,” Declan swore, probably at Adam’s collapse. “If you really care for him you’ll leave him alone.”

 

Adam just nodded. _Ronan was alive. Ronan was alive._ He didn’t care that he was with someone else. He pressed his palms into his eyes and leaned his elbows on his knees, unabashedly crying for once in his life.

 

“Ashley, _don’t.”_

 

“I’ll thank you to not order me around, Declan,” the woman said.

 

Soft fingers wrapped around one of Adam’s wrist, pulling it from his face. Ashley’s face was even prettier up close - skin that needed no makeup but looked magnificent in it regardless - but she wasn’t smiling at him. She pressed a small handkerchief to Adam’s open hand and curled his fingers around it. Then, as quick as she came, Ashely stood back up and slipped her arm into Declan’s grasp.

 

As they walked off, Adam could hear her say, “You owe me another drink. I didn’t even get to finish mine.”

 

Adam stayed at his spot against the wall for some time. _Ronan was alive._ People would look at him strangely as they entered and left the bar, yet no one stopped to check on him. It wasn’t until the owner of the bar stuck his head out and glared at Adam did he realize he should go.

 

He wandered back the direction he came, knowing no other path but back to the forest. Declan was right. Adam had no right to barge into Ronan’s life, not after abandoning him, and not when Ronan was with someone. _And happy._ Admittedly, Adam was scared too. If he left Ronan here, without making any contact, then Adam would understand why Ronan never found him in his time. Why would he? He’d moved on. Found someone else who made him happy.

 

But if Adam found Ronan… would he be dooming him to death?

 

Adam stood at the edge of the forest. He knew he should go in. There was nothing for him here, not when he couldn’t see Ronan. Instead, Adam found a bench nearby and sat in it, eyes trained at the forest but not seeing it.

 

 _It’s better this way,_ he thought. His hands were shaking. _You’re just going to hurt him. All you do is hurt him._

 

Despite the breeze, the branches of Cabeswater weren’t moving. They weren’t beckoning him like they had on the other side. _Stay_ , they seemed to say. _Find him._

 

No.

 

No, he couldn’t. He had to go home.

 

Time was never-ending to Adam.

 

How long had he been sitting on the bench? How long had he been searching for Ronan? How long had he been wanting and wanting and wanting and never getting what he wanted?

 

Why didn’t he get to be in love?

 

Adam stared at Cabeswater. The forest stared back. He pushed himself up from the bench, ready to walk through the forest one last time and--

 

Footsteps. Heavy breathing. A voice, deep and familiar, said, _“Adam.”_

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Thank you for sticking through that, because I did NOT enjoy writing that chapter, so I can't imagine you enjoyed reading it. (Sans for the line about Gansey eating a meatball sub, because apparently that's mah #thing.) This is the chapter I'm the most iffy on, but at a certain point I think I have to just let it go, and also realize that any chapter without Ronan is going to be annoying and frustrating, but it's part of the game. On the bright side, I consider this the MOST angsty chapter, so you're over the hump of the sadness. 
> 
> Thanks for your support, as usual! I apologize for not writing comments back - it's been a kind of crazy week at school, and another crazy week to follow. 
> 
> Last thing: as always, if you're concerned about something, just remember to trust me. ;)


	12. Waking Up To You

_Not long after Gansey got him the job, Persephone had invited Adam over for one final cup of tea. They sat on her front porch, nursing something that was far too strong and far too foul-smelling for Adam to stomach, but he tried to sip it all the same. Persephone’s hair was piled into a giant clip on her head but there was one curl, a corkscrew, floating in the wind._

 

_“How are you, Adam?” She asked._

 

_“I’m not trying to be rude, I mean this honestly, but why do you ask me that when you know the answer?” Adam set his cup of tea down. “You always ask me for tea when you know something’s wrong.”_

 

_“Just because I know, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get a choice in telling me.”_

 

_Adam leaned back in his rocking chair, sighing. He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings. It’s what Blue had begged him to do all those years ago with her, what one of his professors had suggested when he had a breakdown in class when he’d forgotten about an assignment. Adam knew he should see a counselor, realistically, but it was so daunting. He didn’t want to talk about his past with someone. He was perfectly content to deal with it on his own, even if some days it haunted him._

 

_Something about Persephone always got him to talk more, though. He clenched his hands around the arms of the rocking chair and said, “My mom. She wants to get lunch.”_

 

_“And you don’t?”_

 

_“It’s not that I don’t--” Adam stopped, abruptly, when he realized there was no point in lying to Persephone. Instead, he said, “No, I don’t.”_

 

_“Then you shouldn’t go.”_

 

_“But she’s trying to be a better mom. Shouldn’t I let her do that?”_

 

 _“I think,” Persephone began, pausing to take a sip of her tea. “--that you should do what you_ want _, Adam. Do you want a relationship with your mother?”_

 

_Adam looked at his shoes, at the hole where he could stick his big toe through. He had enough money to buy a brand new pair, yet he couldn’t bring himself to throw the ratty pair of tennis shoes away._

 

_“No,” he admitted._

 

_“Then why are you still talking with your mother?”_

 

_Adam didn’t know._

 

* * *

 

 

Adam didn’t move from the bench, nor did Ronan come to him. They stood apart and Adam almost laughed. They could overcome time and space but no one could move a measly few feet.

 

Adam placed his hands on his thighs and rubbed them against the rough of his jeans. He focused on the feeling, letting it ground him. He desperately wanted to reach out and touch Ronan but knew he couldn’t. The reasons seemed endless: Adam had left Ronan; it had likely been years; Ronan was seeing someone else; and if Adam touched him, why would he ever stop?

 

Ronan lifted his hand to run it across his shaved head. “I thought about this for years. What I would say when you came back. _If_ you came back. And now...”

 

Adam forced himself to look away. If he could, he’d drink in every inch of Ronan’s features, but why would Ronan want him looking at him?

 

“What’s the date?” Adam asked instead.

 

“February-something. 1942.”

 

Adam sucked in a quick breath. No wonder people were in a tizzy. The attack on Pearl Harbor had been fairly recent, meaning they’d just entered one of the most intense parts of the war. “Why are you in _America_ then? You should get out. Go--”

 

“Go _where_?” Adam could tell from Ronan’s tone that he was glaring at him. “Maybe you know something I don’t, but right now the whole world seems to be at war.”

 

Adam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees so that he could dig his hands into his hair. The air was tense. So tense. He found himself naive for ever thinking he could see Ronan alive and let that be all he wanted. As if he could simply leave. What a joke.

 

The bench creaked and suddenly Ronan was sitting next to him, albeit leaving ample room. Adam tilted his head slightly, enough so that he could look at Ronan’s stiff form. He pressed his fingers harder into his scalp. He wanted to touch him. Lace their fingers together, or cup his hand on Ronan’s knee. Anything.

 

It was 1942. They were in public.

 

And Ronan probably hated him.

 

“It’s been about a year. For me,” Adam clarified. He laughed bitterly. “But it’s been about fifteen years for you, hasn’t it? Not quite fifty, but you must--” The words caught in his throat. _Hate me._

 

Ronan swallowed. He managed to keep an edge out of his voice when he asked, “What happened?”

 

“You were _sick,_ ” Adam said quickly. Too defensively. “And you couldn’t go to the doctor. I just thought -- If I could get some medicine from my time, or look it up--”

 

“I told you that it was _fine_ ,” Ronan said. Something about his voice sounded off and Adam couldn’t place it.

 

“You didn’t know that!”

 

Ronan’s lips twisted in annoyance. He used the back of his hand to hide his mouth from public view, immediately looking over his shoulder to check whether they’d attracted any attention. He looked back at Adam, eye’s flicking up and down his body quickly.

 

“Your outfit,” Ronan muttered, and Adam finally realized what was so weird: it was his accent. He was so used to hearing Ronan with a British accent. He didn’t have full control of his American accent yet; he kept slipping, elongating vowels in strange ways or softening certain consonants too much. “People will notice.”

 

Adam shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m going back in a minute, anyway.”

 

Ronan sucked in a quick breath of air. When he exhaled, it wavered. “Just like that?”

 

“You don’t want me here.”

 

“Who said that?”

 

No one, really. Maybe Declan, in a roundabout way, but Declan’s pleas for Adam to stay away didn’t change anything. No one _needed_ to say it. Adam had fucked everything up and he knew it. Ronan knew it. What was the point?

 

“Stop-- Whatever is going on in your brain right now, just tell it to quit,” Ronan said, clearly having clued in on Adam’s pity party. “You can’t leave. We need to talk.”

 

He stood up from the bench and adjusted his heavy wool coat. Adam had barely registered the cold, but suddenly, it dug at his skin. Seeing him shiver, Ronan shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Adam, revealing pressed olive slacks and a button down shirt. It was not enough to keep him warm, so Adam refused the jacket.

 

Ronan rolled his eyes. “You don’t get a choice. I don’t want you drawing attention with that flimsy coat of yours.”

 

They fought with their eyes for a minute before Adam took the coat and tugged it on, knowing it was useless. The jacket smelled like Ronan - like the forest, of course, and Adam felt stupid for never noticing until now. He pulled the collar of the coat around him and inhaled.

 

They walked to a hotel of all places. As they neared the building, Ronan muttered, “Room 103,” and gestured for him to wait. Adam gave it five minutes before he walked into the hotel, found the room, and opened the door as if he were staying there himself.

 

Ronan had all the blinds closed, so once Adam shut the door behind him the room was eerily dark. Ronan reached to turn on a lamp but it was dim and hardly useful. It earned a curse from Ronan and a smack to its base, but Ronan was no MacGyver and the lamp stayed dim. Adam shrugged off the jacket and draped it over the shitty hotel chair that was trying to pass itself off as something worth sitting in.

 

Ronan sat at the edge of the bed cracking his knuckles. He wouldn’t look at Adam so the latter took the opportunity to look at him. The biggest difference was his hair, of course; he’d shaved it again and it was jarring. Having hair in the 1920s had aged him, in a way, but now Ronan looked like the boy Adam had met in London despite knowing, logically, that nothing had changed ever. It was difficult to tell for sure under his button-down but Adam thought he looked bulkier.

 

Unsurprising, really. He had met someone. Probably wanted to impress him.

 

Adam wasn’t sure who should speak first. Ronan had been the one to insist on talking, but Adam owed him a thousand apologies. He played with the string from the blinds.

 

“How long have you been in America?” Adam asked.

 

“About five years.”

 

He was reaching for anything to say. The results were embarrassing. “It’s weird hearing you with an American accent.”

 

“Fuck. Adam, this isn’t what I wanted to talk about. This isn’t--” Ronan stood up from the bed and cursed, tugging his shirt from out of his pants as if it would quell his anger. “Why did you come back? _Now,_ of all times?”

 

“I don’t get to choose! I never do. Cabeswater just appeared, like it always does, when I least expected it.” He folded his arms to his chest. “I told you, I can go back.”

 

“I don’t _want_ you to go,” Ronan growled. “Why the fuck would I want that?”

 

“Why _would_ you want me here? What good am I to you now?” Adam leaned against the door and covered his eyes with his forearm. He was not going to cry. He was _not_ going to cry. “I’m not going to make the same mistake as last time, Ronan. I’m not going to barge into your life and act like nothing has changed. It’s been fifteen years. _Clearly_ things have changed. It’s not fair if I just--”

 

He felt a tug at his arm. Ronan had stood up from the bed - shockingly silent - and was taking his arm so that he could grab Adam’s hand.

 

“Who are you and what have you done with Parrish?” Ronan muttered, rubbing his thumb along the back of Adam’s hand. His voice had lost its edge; it was gentle, now, softer. “What happened to taking what you wanted, no mercy?”

 

“Because it’s you. Because I’m tired of hurting you.” Adam shut his eyes, unable to look at Ronan and not touch him. “And because I’m tired.”

 

“So you’re giving up?” Ronan dropped his hand and the floorboards creaked. He’d stepped back.

 

Adam’s eyes slit open so that he could stupidly pull Ronan back to him. He placed his hand on Ronan’s waist and it was completely inappropriate and cruel to whoever thought Ronan was coming home to him. Adam wasn’t stupid. Fifteen years was a long time, but this was Ronan and he was Adam; they had history that was heavy and dark and wonderful. Ronan probably couldn’t help but feel the pull - whether it was love or just the magic of it all fucking with them both - and Adam saw it in the way he looked at him. But Ronan was with someone, someone from his time who had never abandoned him, and they were playing with fire being alone in a dark hotel room.

 

So in an attempt to quell his guilt, or perhaps just to be sensible, Adam admitted, “I saw Declan earlier and he _told_ me. I know, Ronan.”

 

Ronan’s hand seemed unphased by the omission - it slid to Adam’s neck, cupping it so that Ronan could rub his thumb along Adam’s throat - but his expression stilled.

 

“You know? Know _what?_ ” He echoed, and Adam noticed Ronan’s hand was trembling against his skin.

 

“That you’re with someone,” Adam confirmed. “Not just that. He said you are _happy_. Jesus, Ronan, I love-- I love the thought of coming back here and staying but I’m not going to ruin a relationship.”

 

Ronan dropped his hand and walked to the bed. As he sat back down he laughed, two parts incredulous and one part bitter. “Declan is misinformed, Adam. I’m not happy.”

 

Adam allowed himself one moment to be selfishly relieved that Ronan’s relationship was unsatisfying before he remembered to be pragmatic. People said shit like that all the time to justify cheating.

 

“But you’re with someone,” Adam confirmed.

 

“Last I checked.”

 

Adam swallowed the envy that was stuck in his throat, forcing himself to stomach the taste. He had to get used to this. “How long?”

 

“Oh, you know how I am with time.” Ronan’s eyes trailed up in thought. He was stalling. “He’s always the better one at keeping track. Apparently it’s been fifteen years already.”

 

Adam sucked in a quick breath. “Don’t be an ass, Ronan. Just tell me.”

 

“I just did.” He stared at Adam pointedly.

 

_Oh._

 

Adam stood standing in the middle of the hotel room, conscious of his every breath and every second that ticked by with it. Ronan rubbed his hand against the back of his head, perhaps feeling guilty for his little joke when he realized it had left Adam in shock.

 

“You left, and I was mad at you, but I hoped-- Well.” Ronan broke off, voice catching in his throat. “You didn’t end things with me before you left. That seemed important.”

 

“But Declan said--”

 

“That I’m in a committed relationship? I am. _With you._ Declan just left out a vital part of that puzzle piece because his biggest fault is that he thinks he knows what’s best for people and he never does.”

 

Ronan held out his hand to Adam, gesturing for him to come closer. Adam slid his hand into his palm and let Ronan pull him to the bed, taking a seat on the end of it next to him. Adam didn’t know what to say or do. He wanted to kiss Ronan, or maybe he wanted to just talk to him, or maybe, maybe he should just sit there, in Ronan’s presence, until the shock of the day wore off.

 

Ronan was still holding his hand and he stared at it while he said, “But if you... didn’t see it that way…”

 

Adam laughed - and it was shrill, almost crazed - but he couldn’t help it. What a funny joke. The thought of moving on from Ronan was outrageous. He was doomed to love this boy forever, no matter the distance.

 

“I’ve done nothing but think of you,” Adam said honestly. “How to get back. If you were okay. If you hated me.”

 

“You have a way of annoying me, Parrish, but I could never hate you. Sometimes I wondered if I was being an idiot but… I don’t know.” He smiled, almost bashfully, if bashful were an expression that could grace Ronan’s face. “In the end, it was easier this way. Just the thought of giving up on you was harder than trusting you’d come back.”

 

Ronan was staring at their entwined hands. His lips kept opening, like he had something to say.

But what _were_ you supposed to say after fifteen years apart? Hello and how’ve you been? Their previous reunions had always been dictated by some uncontrollable factor - something that propelled them through any awkward exchange - but now neither man knew what to do. There were so many things to discuss, so many gaps, that Adam didn’t know where to begin.

 

In the end Ronan made the choice for them. Always a man of action, Ronan slid his fingers into Adam’s scalp, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. Then, as tentative as he had been back in London, like he’d been the very first time, Ronan leaned in to kiss Adam. The kiss was slow and sweet and almost apologetic until, suddenly, it wasn’t.

 

It was overwhelming at first. Adam hadn’t been touched in a year besides the occasional hug from Blue or, on particularly hateful nights, his own hand. Adam felt acutely aware of every sensation: the sheer silence of the room that made the sharp and ragged inhales of breath sound deafening; the edge of Ronan’s nails pressing further into his scalp when Adam licked his way into Ronan’s mouth; the rough of the bedding when Ronan lowered Adam to his back.

 

But the more he kissed Ronan the more it became a fairy tale, really. He’d been trapped by sleep, even though his eyes were open, but all it took was one kiss to wake him. For the first time in a year Adam was aware that he had blood pulsing beneath his skin. Aware of the aching hunger that came from starving himself from this familiar touch. Aware that he was actually _alive,_ that he had needs and desires, and that time was short, fragile, and never on his side.

 

“Can we--” Adam released a shaky breath. “Can we please…”

 

“What do you want, Adam?” Ronan whispered, pausing his worship of Adam’s skin to look down at him from above. “I’ll do anything.”

 

Adam swallowed, licked his bottom lip, then placed his hand on Ronan’s heart. Then slid it down, slow and pointedly, as he said, “I want you.”

 

Anything, it appeared, did not include _that._

 

Ronan removed himself from the bed, putting a good five feet between them both, and leaned against the wall. Adam sat up on the bed and grabbed one of the pillows to cover himself, suddenly embarrassed to be so obviously in want when Ronan was not. It was confusing and, admittedly, hurtful.

 

“Sorry,” Adam said quickly. “If you don’t want to--”

 

“No, that’s not it,” Ronan interrupted. He shoved the palm of his hand into his eye and cursed. “It wouldn’t be right.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“No--” Another curse. “That’s not what I meant. It’s-- I need to tell you something. Before we-- You deserve to know the truth before we do anything.”

 

Adam’s stomach soured. “The truth?” Had Ronan been lying? Was he really with someone?

 

Before his worries could spin out of control, Ronan said, “I’m leaving. Tomorrow. For Europe.”

 

“Okay…” Adam slid his legs to the side of the bed. “I’ll go with you. I don’t need to live here.”

 

Ronan bit at his thumbnail. “You can’t go with. It’s not like our usual moves.”

 

“Why not? Is it harder to move abroad already? I know Declan hates me, but maybe if we tell him I’m planning to stay he can help with the paperwork--”

 

“No. Adam. _Listen._ You can’t come with.”

 

Adam was starting to get annoyed and it showed in his tone. _“Why?”_

 

“Because I’m being _deployed.”_

 

A beat of silence passed. “What?”

 

“I joined-- Fuck. I joined the military. We’re shipping off tomorrow.” Ronan bit his lip. “Cabeswater has fucking timing, bringing you to me the night before I have to leave.”

 

Adam’s feet hit the ground and took him to Ronan’s side before he was conscious he was even moving, like his body knew he was upset even if his mind couldn’t keep up.

 

“I don’t understand. How did this happen? I thought Declan kept you off the radar.”

 

“I wasn’t drafted,” Ronan muttered. “I signed up. Voluntarily.”

 

 _“Why?_ ”

 

“It’s a war, Adam. Innocent people are dying.” Despite the truth in his words, Ronan’s tone was was unconvincing and dispassionate. “And it’s my duty as an American, and et cetera.”

 

“Ronan, you can’t do this. You’re not-- You’re not _like_ everyone else. Do you know how many people will die in this war? Almost half a million. _And that was just the Americans.”_

 

Adam’s plea seemed to have the opposite effect on Ronan. If anything, talking about the deaths only hardened his gaze. “Adam, I’m going.”

 

“You _can’t,_ ” Adam repeated. He was starting to sound insane and he knew it. He was talking too loud, breathing too hard. His heart was beginning to ache in a familiar shooting pain that usually signaled a panic attack.

 

But Adam couldn’t help it. This was it. _Of course this was it._ The reason why Ronan hadn’t found him in his time. And maybe Adam should have learned his lesson the last time, that stressing about Ronan’s death would only lead to ruin, but Jesus. This was _World War 2._

 

“Adam, what’s wrong?” Ronan asked, clearly picking up on his panic. “You look--”

 

 _Deep breaths. Count to four._ Adam pictured Gansey one year ago, hands on his cheeks, telling him to breathe. _One. Two. Three. Four._

 

_Don’t let Ronan die._

 

Deep breathing wasn’t working. Adam placed his hands on Ronan’s forearms to steady himself. “Ronan, _please don’t go. Please._ It’s too dangerous. You’ll die--”

 

“I’ll be fine--”

 

“No, you won’t!” Adam pushed away, overwhelmed with the need to throw something against the wall. Instead, he tugged at his hair, letting the pain ground him. “I shouldn’t tell you this but, fuck it, I’m not going to lose you again. Ronan, if you leave, you will die. I’m not just saying this, _I know this._ ”

 

Ronan stilled. “Did you… Is there a record or something?”

 

“No. I can’t find any record of you at all. Declan is too good at his job,” Adam admitted. He sucked in a quick breath and said the truth he’d been holding onto for too long. “Think about it, Ronan. You haven’t found me. In my time.”

 

Ronan’s eyebrows knitted together. “That doesn’t mean I _died_ \--”

 

“Okay, then what else, Ronan? The only way I survived this past year was telling myself that the reason you hadn’t found me was that you were furious with me for leaving you back in Paris. That you’d moved on and forgotten me. And then Declan tells me you’re in a relationship and you’re happy and I didn’t even care. I was just so happy that you were _alive_. That I hadn’t left you for dead.

 

“But now you tell me that you waited all this time, without even _knowing_ why I left, and you expect me to believe you wouldn’t find me in my time? God, Ronan, there’s no other explanation! Something happens to you, something bad, _and we don’t get to be together.”_

 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Ronan carefully pried Adam’s hands from his head and pinned them at his side. Then he smoothed down the strands of hair that were sticking up. His voice was hoarse when he asked, “How long have you been holding onto this?”

 

Adam leaned his head onto Ronan’s shoulder. “Since you told me you weren’t immortal.”

 

“Jesus.”

 

“Please don’t go,” Adam repeated, hands clutching the fabric at Ronan’s waist. “I can’t be alone again. It almost killed me last time.”

 

Ronan ran his hand down Adam’s back as they stood in the silence of the hotel room. Adam was still shaking. He tried another of Gansey’s tricks to calm down. _Find five things that you see._ Ronan’s coat. The hotel key sitting by the bedside. The yellowing wallpaper that was beginning to peel off the wall. The freckle below Ronan’s throat. A small suitcase in the corner. _Find four things that you hear._ The sound of the radio floating in from next door. Ronan’s breathing. Cars passing by. Ronan’s voice, whispering--

 

“It’s Matthew.”

 

Adam tilted his head to look up at Ronan, but the man was staring at the wall. “What?”

 

“Matthew. He-- He got it in his head that he wanted to help. Signed up for the draft before we could stop him.” Ronan’s hand stilled at Adam’s back. “Adam, I’m going so that I can protect him.”

 

“But you--” Adam pulled out of Ronan’s arms. He didn’t know what to say, suddenly. Adam knew how Ronan felt about his brothers. Knew how much he loved them. _Especially_ Matthew. Ronan loved Declan too, of course, but there was something about the youngest Lynch brother that made Ronan smile longer or talk softer.

 

“If I let him do this alone, and something happened to him… Adam, I would do almost anything for you.” Ronan trailed off, unable to finish the horrible thought. When he spoke next, his voice cracked. “But he’s my brother.”

 

Adam wanted to be selfish. He toed the line, briefly, when he said, “How do you know you’ll even be stationed together? You could be sent _anywhere_.”

 

“I don’t,” Ronan admitted. “They could separate us the minute we get to Europe. But I have to try.”

 

Adam was still looking for solutions, running desperately to every corner of his brain. “What about Declan? Can’t he--”

 

“He tried to, believe me,” Ronan said. He sat on the bed again, sighing. “I just barely talked him out of it. Said we’d all be fucked if something happened to him, as we can’t do half the shit he does. Anyway, he’s with Ashley. They’re getting married.”

 

“You have me,” Adam countered. He was starting to sound mad, he knew, but he was desperate. “Why does Declan get to be happy and you don’t?”

 

“Because I didn’t know when, or _if_ , you were even coming back,” Ronan said. He reached out his hand to Adam, wanting him to come close. “Adam. I promise you, I’ll be okay.”

 

“Then why haven’t you found me?” Adam whispered.

 

Ronan didn’t have an answer. He tugged Adam back to the bed, gesturing for him to lay next to him. Adam found he couldn’t look at Ronan, not without imagining him bloodied from war and dying in a trench, so he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

 

“You leave tomorrow?” Adam asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’ll wait for you. Here.” Adam finally turned to Ronan. “I’ll find a job fixing cars. And I’ll get to know Declan. I’ll get him to trust me.”

 

Ronan shut his eyes and smiled for one perfect moment. Adam wondered what he was picturing that made him so happy: if it was Adam, fumbling awkwardly around Declan and failing miserably, or just the idea of coming home to him. Knowing they’d never have to be apart once he was back. Whatever dream he had didn’t last, though, because the smile flickered and then Ronan was sighing.

 

“No,” he said. “You need to go home. To your home.”

 

Adam leaned on his side so that he could glare down at Ronan. _“No.”_

 

Ronan glared right back. _“Yes._ You are not throwing away your life to wait for me here. _”_

 

“It wouldn’t be _throwing away my life_.”

 

“Really? Fixing cars for the rest of your life would be a death sentence to you. You said it yourself, back in Paris. There’s no challenge in it, right? And before you even say it, _what else is there here to challenge you here?_ Be honest with me: has there been anything - _ever_ \- in my time that you didn’t already know about?”

 

Adam didn’t have to think about it to know the answer to his question, but it didn’t matter. “It’s fine. It’s not like my work in the future is interesting either. I’ve gotten over it, okay?”

 

“What do you mean?” Ronan’s eyes narrowed.

 

Adam pushed himself up on the bed and shrugged. “I just-- Life in my time is never going to be anything great. I’ve come to terms with it. But if I’m here, _with you,_  then at least--”

 

“Jesus, Adam, do you hear yourself?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why are you so willing to give up everything for me?”

 

 _Because there’s nothing for me in my time. Because you’re the only thing that can make me happy._ _Because I’m in love with you._

 

Instead, Adam said, “I’m not.”

 

Ronan laughed. It was cruel and he must have realized it, because soon he was cupping Adam’s cheek with his hand and muttering curses under his breath.

 

“I’m sorry. I don’t-- This isn’t coming out right.” His thumb brushed Adam’s bottom lip carefully. “I just… When we first met I was so amazed by you. Because you were so smart, and capable, and you knew exactly what you wanted. I didn’t understand a God-damn word you said, but I knew you were going to change the world somehow. And now you tell me you have some shit job that makes you miserable and that you’re willing to throw your entire life away to wait here for me, not even knowing if I could come back? That doesn’t sound like you.”

 

“It’s the only option. The only way we can be together,” Adam whispered.

 

“I don’t think that’s true. I think you were right, all those years ago. You told me the universe wanted us together. That it was fate.”

 

_“Fuck fate!”_

 

“Adam--”

 

“No, I’m serious. _Fuck fate._ What has fate ever done for me? Why would I leave anything up to chance when the best guarantee of getting what we want is me staying right _here?_ ”

 

“I can’t stay, Adam, you know how important my brothers are to me.”

 

“I’m not asking you to stay! I’m just saying I’ll wait--”

 

“And if I do die?” Ronan was starting to lose his temper now too. Or maybe the thought was simply too frightening. Either way, his voice began to shake. “The forest is connected to me, Adam. When my father died, so did my mother. I could die and Cabeswater would disappear and then you’re stuck here, miserable and alone.”

 

Adam didn’t have an argument to counter that point. He tried to imagine being stuck in this time, knowing that Ronan would never return. Knowing he’d never get back to his time. That he’d never see Blue again. Which, _God_ , he was such a dick. Now, being faced with the thought of never going home, he thought about missing Blue’s wedding. Of not knowing whether Gansey and her ever had kids of their own. Of never having tea with Persephone again. And-- God, he even sort-of, vaguely thought he might miss Gansey. Just a bit.

 

Ronan cleared his throat. “I’m scared too, Adam. That this could be…it. But something keeps bringing us together, again and again and again. Maybe it’s Cabeswater, maybe it’s fate. But whatever it is, I think it _wants_ us to be together, just… not now.”

 

“It’s never the right time,” Adam muttered. Still, he rested his forehead against Ronan’s and slipped his fingers between his. “I don’t want this to be it.”

 

“It might not be.”

 

Adam didn’t want to chase either possibility. It was too ingrained in him to think negatively - to picture Ronan injured, alone on a battlefield, never able to return. And he didn’t allow himself to be positive either. What if he waited in his time, hoping that Ronan would show up at any moment, only to wait, and wait, and wait?

 

So instead, Adam ended the conversation. He tilted his head, pressing his lips to Ronan’s, and squeezed their joined hands. Nothing more needed to be said. Unlike Paris, or even London, this goodbye was obvious. Neither wanted to say it out loud so they communicated it with touch.

 

Adam used to fantasize about what it would be like to finally be with Ronan. To not just touch but to taste. There were lonely nights, back in his time, where Adam would touch himself and pretend it was Ronan. The one time Ronan had touched him it had been quick and furious, both men knowing they had little time. It was Adam’s only reference point to truly being with Ronan, so when he touched himself, he never took his time. Tried to get it to feel like it did then. Anyway, it was better that way. It meant he lingered less on Ronan’s image and the memories of being happy.

 

This night was different. They were alone. They were safe. There was no one to interrupt and no judgmental eyes to worry over.

 

So Ronan took his time. As he kissed Adam - lips warm and slow, breath heavy - he unzipped  Adam’s hoodie and took it off him. Then, carefully, he undid each button on Adam’s shirt and pushed the fabric off of Adam’s shoulders. He removed every item of clothing he could without breaking the kiss, and when that became impossible, Ronan lowered to his knees and kissed Adam’s hip as he rid him from the rest of his clothes.

 

Adam found it unfair, yet oddly fitting, to be completely naked while Ronan remained fully clothed. It was uncomfortable to be laid so bare in front of Ronan, but somehow safer than any of the words he’d spoken earlier. He hadn’t told Ronan that he loved him yet but Ronan must have known, could have pieced it together by everything Adam _had_ said, along with what he specifically didn’t say.

 

Ronan kissed Adam’s other hip, then kissed his inner thigh, then slid his mouth over Adam. His palm slid to Adam’s lower back and Ronan pulled his hips closer to him, engulfing Adam completely. Adam thought, briefly, _Oh, why didn’t we do this sooner?_ and then he thought of nothing at all.

 

Ronan brought him to the edge then pulled away, laying Adam - the breathless mess that he was - down on the bed. Adam understood, implicitly, that it was less about teasing him and more about Ronan prolonging the act. That ending the act would feel too much like a goodbye. They had this night, and this night only, and Adam didn’t want it to end.

 

They took turns. Adam took Ronan in his hand, touching him the way he, himself, liked it: dragging his hand down, so slow, and pulling Ronan’s skin tight. When Ronan’s breath caught Adam paused, needing it to never end, and chose instead to finally undress Ronan. He was so built - shoulders so wide, arms so strong, stomach tight - and, briefly, Adam’s stomach soured with the knowledge of how he got so strong. But then Ronan guided Adam’s hands so that they touched the very lines and edges that distracted him and that ended any coherent thought he had.

 

It had to end, of course. It had been too long for either man to last. Ronan came first and Adam barely had to touch him; it had been enough to slide his fingers into Ronan’s mouth and rut against him. When Ronan caught his breath, he ended things where he had started them with Adam: back on his knees, hand again perilously low on Adam’s back, mouth hot and tight around him.

 

They cleaned themselves up without talking. As good as it had been, Adam felt a little sick. Being together like this, so intimately, left no doubt that this was a goodbye.

 

* * *

 

 

It was two in the morning, neither able to sleep, when Adam said, “Can I see you off tomorrow?”

 

“I’m being picked up here.”

 

Ronan had him pulled to his chest, body curved around his. Adam pulled Ronan’s hands to his mouth and brushed them against his lips. Adam didn’t want to think about the inevitable goodbye. Instead, he asked a question that had been nagging him for a few hours. “How does it work? Declan marrying Ashley?”

 

“Typically there’s a ring involved, and vows exchanged--”

 

Adam elbowed him. “You know what I mean. Declan will outlive her.”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

“Does she even know?”

 

Ronan pressed a kiss to Adam’s shoulder. “Yes.”

 

“I’m surprised he’s getting married at all. You made it sound like he’d-- well, that he wasn’t into committed relationships.”

 

Ronan sighed, seemingly irritated, and muttered, “I was wrong, okay? Don’t rub it in.”

 

“I’m not.” Adam took a deep breath for courage. “Would you… ever get married? Even knowing you’d outlive… him?” Adam had wanted to say, _Outlive me?_ but he didn’t feel bold enough. “It’s legal, in my time, for a man to marry a man. In some states.”

 

“So we just conducted a cardinal sin when we didn’t need to?”

 

It earned him another elbow to his stomach. Adam could feel Ronan’s lips widen against his neck.

 

Still, Adam was aware Ronan had avoided the question. He had nothing to lose, really, by going out on a limb and asking Ronan the question he really wanted. So Adam turned in bed so that he was facing Ronan and said, “If-- _When_ you come back from the war, will you marry me?”

 

Ronan blinked at him, perhaps unsure if Adam was joking or not. When Adam didn’t laugh, Ronan cleared his throat and said, “Isn’t that my job? To tell my girl that I’m coming home to her, and when I’m back, I’ll make her an honest woman? And et cetera?”

 

Adam frowned, “I’m not joking.”

 

“I don’t--” Ronan cursed. Behind his eyes, Adam could tell he was working on what to say. “Adam, if I could, I’d marry you right now. But if I don’t come back…”

 

“You will. You told me you would.”

 

“But if I don’t, I don’t want you waiting for me.”

 

“Of _course_ I’m going to wait for you.”

 

Ronan smiled, wistfully, before tucking a strand of hair behind Adam’s ear. “Adam, I would do anything to find you again. There’s no one else for me out there. So when you go home… if I don’t find you… Don’t wait for me.“

 

“But--”

 

“Don’t live your life revolving around me,” Ronan continued. His grasp on Adam’s neck was firm, confident, as he stared into his eyes. “Live your life for you, Adam. _Be happy.”_

 

Adam thought about the past year of his life. A job he hated and an empty apartment; arguments with Blue and stiff conversations with his mother. He thought about how awful it all was, but even more, he thought about how he didn’t care. Adam knew he could go back to his time and keep living his life, numb to it all, because he didn’t know how to do anything else.

 

His voice was cracked as he admitted, “I don’t think I know how to be happy without you.”

 

Ronan pulled him tight against his body, burying Adam’s head into his neck. “You have to.”

 

* * *

 

 

With so little time on the clock anything Adam thought to say seemed like a waste of time. In the end, that meant they said nothing at all. They spent most of the night curled into one another or pressing their lips to each other’s skin.

 

At some point Adam fell asleep. He doubted Ronan slept at all. When Ronan stirred him awake in the early morning he looked haggard, eyes bloodshot. His smile, though, was sweet as he leaned down at kissed Adam’s temple, and nose, and cheeks, then finally his lips.

 

They got ready in silence. Ronan had a military uniform packed into his suitcase. The olive green suit was stark against his pale skin, but he looked nice. Professional. Adam helped with his tie and adjusted his beret, hands shaking the whole time.

 

Not long after came a knock on the door. Adam stood back, hiding from view instinctively. There was a young, blonde man at the door wearing a similar outfit, though adorned with more metals. When he saw Ronan he saluted and said, in an English accent, “Private. We’re about to leave.”

 

Ronan nodded stiffly. He looked at Adam, then back at the man, and said, “Sergeant Malory, would you… Would you give me one minute?”

 

Malory scratched at the mustache beneath his nose and snorted, “My word, Parrish, if you aren’t ready by now--”

 

Adam’s brow furrowed at the name the Sergeant called Ronan. _Parrish?_ Ronan slammed the door shut with a wince and turned toward Adam, cheeks a little pink, and muttered, “It’s hard to think of a new name every time we move, okay?”

 

“I’m sure. Tell me, do you steal other people’s names often, _Parrish?”_

 

“I didn’t _steal_ it. Stop laughing. You’re the one who wants to marry me anyway.”

 

Malory was banging on the door now, complaining about Ronan’s insolence. Ronan rolled his eyes at the man and muttered, British accent already sneaking its way back, “He’s going to ruin my American accent.”

 

Adam’s lips quirked. “It was shitty to begin with. You lose it half the time.”

 

Ronan huffed at the insult, but as the pounding on the door increased, his expression turned serious. Ronan pulled Adam to him and kissed him. Adam tried not to think about how this could be the last time. Instead he focused on what he liked best about Ronan: the way his hands always clenched into the fabric of Adam’s clothes, as if he were still the nervous boy Adam had met in London all those years ago.

 

Adam was tired of crying but his eyes lined with tears. Even Ronan, stoic and tough, had to blink away his wet eyes. _Don’t go,_ Adam wanted to say. _Stay with me. I love you. I love you. I love you._

 

Ronan pushed Adam’s hair back like it would be the last time. “Be happy, Adam.”

 

Adam needed to say it. He needed to tell Ronan he loved him. The words were stuck on his tongue - too many years having never said it and never having it said to him - and he stuttered, “Ronan, I-- I--”

 

Ronan kissed him quick again. “Don’t say it. It’ll feel too much like a goodbye. It’ll be incentive for me, in the war, to come back and hear it from you finally. Tell me when we see each other again.”

 

Adam nodded, numb. Ronan squeezed his hand and said, “Bye for now, Parrish.”

 

And then he left.

 

* * *

 

 

Adam didn’t stay in the empty hotel room for long. Ronan had left his jacket behind, perhaps on purpose. Adam tugged it on and walked back to the forest.

 

Cabeswater was absolutely silent as he walked back to his time.

 

* * *

 

 

Gansey clearly did not expect Adam back so soon. He jumped up from his seat at the kitchen table, glasses falling from his face as his head whipped up in shock.

 

“You're back!” Gansey said. Unsure of what to do, Gansey gathered up his pages of notes and stacked them neatly. He patted his empty pockets. “Are you-- Are you okay? Was he… there?”

 

Adam didn’t know how to answer that question. He was tired. He wanted to be alone. No, he wanted to be back with Ronan, in that hotel room, or back in Paris or London or anywhere. He just didn’t want to be here, alone, without Ronan.

 

“Can you take me home?”

 

Gansey sighed, not out of annoyance but probably pity. Then, tentatively, he pulled Adam into a hug. It was awkward and stiff but Adam found himself folding his arms around Gansey all the same.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And y'all wanted to know so much about Ronan's boyfriend. ;) I told you this story is twisty. 
> 
> We're getting to the end, sadly! Next chapter is one of my personal favorites as well.


	13. When It Comes Time to Choose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple quick things:
> 
> 1\. Robert Parrish appears in this flashback, just as a heads up. There's nothing violent, but it's definitely him being an asshole. On the brightside, this is the last time him or Adam's mother appear in the story!
> 
> 2\. You might read the first few scenes and think, "I thought you said this wasn't going to be as angsty!" but just keep reading. This is probably my favorite chapter of them all, for various reasons, and I'm pretty sure you will enjoy it. Adam does the most growing in this chapter, but he starts a little slow.
> 
> 3\. Last: if you've enjoyed this story in any way, shape, or form and want to show me, this would be THE chapter that I would LOVE to know your thoughts as the story progresses. So, if you'd be willing to open a separate box and type your thoughts occasionally so that you could copy and paste the whole thing at the end, you would be MAKING MY WORLD. (Or if you want to tweet me your reactions. I'm on Twitter at @lydiastjamesao3
> 
> Thank you! Enjoy! Almost getting to the end. :(

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_When Adam was sixteen, not long after he’d first gone back to the past for the first time, Robert Parrish had picked through his backpack and pulled out an essay he’d spent all night working on. His score - 100/100 - was written in red ink at the top, and throughout the paper were kind words from his teacher._

 

_Robert curled his lips at it. “You think you’re so smart, huh?”_

 

Yes, _Adam thought. Instead, he shrugged and avoided his father’s gaze. He didn’t want to have this fight again. His father would never be impressed by good grades; he was impressed by Adam bringing home money, by Adam being silent._

 

_“I don’t know why you bother,” Robert muttered, clearly unwilling to let the conversation go. “What do you expect to happen? College? Who is going to accept you?”_

 

_There was a sickness growing in his stomach, a sign that usually signaled something bad was going to happen. Sixteen years was enough time to trust his instincts. Adam tried to change the subject. “Boyd said I could work an extra shift this weekend.”_

_  
_ _It wasn’t working. In fact, it gave Robert more ammo. “If you dropped out of school then you could work full time. Actually help out the family once in awhile.”_

 

_In a rare moment of empathy, Adam’s mother appeared in the kitchen to defend her son. “Robert, he’s not going to drop out of school.”_

 

_Adam felt a surge of love for his mother. He was tired of fighting this battle by himself; having her support him, even just that once, gave him a burst of energy he didn’t know he needed._

 

_“You know Boyd will stick his nose into our business if he finds out Adam dropped out,” his mother continued._

 

_And there it was. Adam pinched the skin at his wrist, digging his nail into it as a way to distract from the twisting of his heart. Though they couldn’t prove it, his parents were certain that Boyd had called CPS on them when Adam first started working at the shop. No harm had come to Adam’s parents from the call but it had annoyed them greatly._

 

_“You’ll see one day, boy,” Robert said, placing his hand on Adam’s shoulder. His grip was too strong, the pressure too intense. Adam wondered if it was supposed to be comforting, or if Robert intended it as a subtle message for Adam to stay down. To give up. “You’re not going anywhere special. You ain’t shit and the world knows it. I’m trying to spare your feelings.”_

 

_Adam said nothing. Instead, he fought the pressure of Robert Parrish’s hands the only way he knew how, by reciting the familiar mantra in his head: I will get out of here, I will get out of here, I will get out of here._

 

_He was valedictorian of his graduating class and was accepted to every college he applied to. The day he left for college Robert Parrish didn’t say goodbye. So when Adam stood staring down at his tombstone, he didn’t say goodbye either._

 

_Sometimes he wondered if that was a mistake. Adam knew goodbyes to be final; the words the grand finale to a rundown circus. But Robert Parrish still lingered in his life, a shadow that whispered nasty words and cackled at his every mistake, and Adam wished he’d dug the hole for his casket himself. He should have buried Robert with every horrible thing he’d done._

 

* * *

 

 

After Gansey dropped him off at home, Adam walked straight to bed and slept for nearly two days. He called into work sick and it was the first time he’d ever lied about it. He just slept, and slept, and slept.

 

When he wasn’t sleeping he thought about his trip to the past and all the things he didn’t do. His and Ronan’s visit happened so fast that it wasn’t until he was home that he remembered all the questions he’d wanted to ask. _When I left how did you handle it? Did you relapse? Did you come out to your brothers or did they figure it out? What happened to Noah? To Henry?_

 

He only left bed on the second day because there was a knock at the door. It woke Adam from a dream - something inconsequential and not worth mentioning, because Adam didn’t believe dreams meant anything - but he always felt dazed when ripped from such a deep slumber. He didn’t recognize the knocking as knocking and laid in bed, confused at the sound. It was the doorbell that finally roused him.

 

The pounding returned, louder this time. His heart rate increased. Adam hadn’t been eating much and, when combined with his sudden wake, he felt anxious. Or maybe hopeful. Sometimes they felt eerily alike.

 

Adam didn’t know what he expected when he pulled open the door. Once he saw Blue Sargent on the other end - looking a bit like a Gansey copy in her collared-pastel dress, but more like herself with a new, uneven bob - he felt stupid for not expecting her.

 

Blue’s eyes traveled up and down his body with a quick flick. “You look like shit.”

 

“Go away,” he said, already shutting the door.

 

Blue stuck her foot between the door - camo boots, thick enough that she barely flinched from the impact - and then barged into the room. From her giant purse she pulled out a deli-sandwich, tuna fish from the smell, and dropped it into his hand.

 

“Eat. I know you haven’t in days.” Blue wasted no time making herself at home. She picked up some trash from the ground and shoved it in the garbage. When she noticed Adam hadn’t unraveled the packaging of the sandwich she sighed. “Adam. _”_

 

“Jesus, okay.”

 

He hadn’t realized he was hungry until he took the first bite, then suddenly he was ravenous. Blue watched him inhale the sandwich as she made a pot of coffee, looking vaguely less irritated with him the more he ate. The coffee was still brewing by the time he finished and Blue jumped at the opportunity, ordering him to take a shower.

 

“Blue, seriously--”

 

“Adam, _seriously._ You smell.”

 

Blue was right, of course. One hot shower later Adam was glad she forced him into it. He was still feeling dazed from too much sleep and too little food, but the shower soothed the ache he’d been holding in his back and the coffee would help the rest soon enough. Blue was already nursing her cup when he got out, sitting cross-legged on his couch. Adam took his cup at the kitchen table. A year ago he would have joined her, perhaps even let her dig her toes under his thighs for the extra warmth, but things were still too tense for such intimacy.

 

“Did Gansey tell you?” Adam finally asked.

 

“Yes. Don’t make that face, he was just worried.”

 

“I’m not making any face.”

 

“Oh, really? Well then your normal face looks like you inhaled a lemon, Adam.”

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “What do you want, Blue? Don’t you have school?”

 

“I was worried about you,” she said slowly. “I would have called but you turned off your phone.”

 

“Well I’m fine.”

 

Blue set her mug of coffee down with a _thud_ , so it was no surprise that the words that followed were laced with annoyance. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you think you’re convincing, or if you honestly don’t realize how depressed you are.”

 

The coffee wasn’t helping his exhaustion. Or maybe it was Blue, forcing him to face his demons when he didn’t feel ready. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Blue in his current state, so Adam took his coffee cup and walked to his bed.

 

Blue followed him and sat on his bed, exposing his hiding place from beneath the covers. Her voice was gentler this time as she said, “Adam… Will you please talk to me? I’m really-- I’m really fucking worried about you, okay?”

 

“There’s nothing to say,” Adam muttered.

 

“Was he… alive?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And yet...you’re here,” Blue said slowly. Her tone tilted up at the end like a question.

 

Adam stared at the ceiling. “I am.”

 

Blue picked at a string from his bedsheet. It was so quiet that Adam could hear the pop of her lips opening, as if she were going to speak, but nothing followed. He could hear her swallow, hear her shift on the bed. Adam knew she was uncomfortable but he made no move to ease the situation.

 

He was being an ass but he didn’t care. Adam was still a little angry with her, and anyway, why was it his responsibility to make _her_ feel better when he was the one in pain?

 

“I’m sorry, Adam,” Blue said softly.

 

“For what, exactly?” Adam bit, sitting up in bed to glare at her. “Tell me, Blue. Sorry that the universe chose me to be its punching bag again? Or sorry that I’m not as fun as I used to be?”

  
“No, I’m _sorry_ that you don’t get to be with him.”

 

Adam snorted unkindly. Blue sucked in a quick breath, obviously trying to control her temper, but that made him even angrier. He didn’t want Blue tip-toeing around him. He wanted her to throw it back at him.

 

“Don’t pretend like you’re not happy about this,” Adam said, poking on purpose. “You’ve never wanted me to go back there.”

 

“Why _would_ I?” Blue countered, her voice low and steady. “You’re my best friend and every time that forest appears you disappear from me, literally, for months. And then even when you’re back it’s like you’re hardly there.”

 

“You don’t need me.”

 

“Adam, _you’re my best friend._ I _do_ need you and I _have_ needed you. _”_

 

“Why? You have _Gansey,”_ Adam said. He didn’t know why he said Gansey’s name like that - so full of disdain - when the man had been nothing but kind to him lately. But Adam couldn’t help it. Hearing Blue complain about being lonely made his blood boil.

 

“What the fuck is your problem with him?” Blue snapped, finally losing her cool. “Let’s hash this out, once and for all. Give me one good reason why you hate him so much.”

 

“I don’t _hate_ him--”

 

“Then what’s your deal?”

 

“Because once you’re married, who do I have?” The words were out of his mouth before Adam could even think of them, but maybe that was good. He’d never been able to put into words what bothered him about Blue and Gansey, yet here it was apparently. “You’re the only real family I have, Blue, and you’re about to become a family with someone else.”

 

Blue shut her mouth, surprised. She couldn’t think of what to say, clearly, so Adam pressed on.

 

“I’m an ass for leaving you behind for the past, I know this, Blue. But at least when I go, I’m not leaving you alone. You have Gansey, and your mother, and your aunts and cousins. But once you’re married, Blue, who the fuck do I have? I don’t-- I don’t get to have my own Gansey. I don’t get to have _him_.”

 

Blue exhaled a ragged breath. Eventually she said, “I didn’t know that you felt this way.”

 

“It’s not like I told you,” Adam muttered. He fell back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. “Gansey’s a good guy. I know it. But you can’t deny that, once he came into the picture, things changed a little. And maybe they’re supposed to, hell, I’m sure it’s healthier. But what if all those little changes add up, and someday you realize you don’t actually need me in your life?”

 

“I would never--”

“You don’t _know_ that!” Adam pulled at the ends of his hair, trying to calm himself. “Look, I like Gansey. He’s a good guy and he’ll be good for you. But let’s face it: the day you marry him is the day I lose the only family I have.”

 

“Adam--” Blue’s voice was wavering, almost as if she were about to cry, but her face was solid and strong when he looked back at her. “I think you’re looking at it all wrong. You could look at it as losing me, true, or you can see it as gaining another family member. It’s up to you.”

 

Adam swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t mind Gansey, but he couldn’t imagine him meaning as much to him as Blue did. Still, he had no response, no argument. So instead, Adam turned on his side, back to Blue, and pulled the blanket over his head. Blue stayed for a minute before she sighed and patted his shoulder. Then the bed creaked and she was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Adam couldn’t help but think of his Introduction to Psychology class as the week progressed. He’d gotten a “B” in that class - the lowest grade of his entire college career - and so he found it stupidly fitting that he’d screw up the five stages of acceptance. It felt like a cliche, really, that he’d go through the stages at all. But wasn’t that the whole point of a cliche? That it happened so often that it practically became a fact?

 

Still, he did them all out of order. Wasn’t anger was supposed to come before the depression? It arrived late to the party. It was only after a week of laying in bed and avoiding work did Adam wake up one morning, suddenly enraged.

 

Anger was awkward for Adam. He spent so much of his life making sure his anger was nothing like his father’s that he’d never really let himself _be_ truly angry. Until now he’d only allowed himself terse conversations, heated glares, and the occasional cutting insult. This time, in the empty of his apartment, Adam screamed “Fuck you!” over and over again, until his throat became sore and his voice cracked; he threw his couch pillows against the wall, and when that wasn’t satisfying, broke a few of his cheap, Goodwill plates. And for once in his life, Adam Parrish did not allow himself to feel guilty about any of it. Not the money he wasted by destroying his things and definitely not the rage he felt.

 

He let himself be mad at Blue. For saying what she said - _maybe you just don’t recognize what I look like when I’m actually happy in a relationship -_ but worse, for pretending like she didn’t mean it at all. He let himself be mad that she got to grow up in a house surrounded by people who loved her; that people continued to love her as she aged, falling over her wicked wit and beautiful smile; that she got to be with the person she loved, forever and ever till death do they part, and it wasn’t a struggle even in the slightest.

 

He let himself be mad at his mother. For abandoning him when he needed her most. For letting his father hit him, again and again and again, and having the audacity to sit on his bed each night and chastise him for bringing it on himself. God, and the worst part, the part he was most angry about, was that she thought she could just _apologize_ and it make it better. As if she’d just made a careless mistake, like leaving the stove on or forgetting to pick up milk in the store, instead of years and years of deliberate choices that cut away at Adam until he felt less like a human and more like scolded dog.

 

And he let himself be mad at Ronan. Even though he had no right to be. He cursed Ronan for making him promise to move on, to try and be happy, because he could never say _no_ to Ronan.

 

Adam didn’t bother with the bargaining stage. He had no chips to play, nothing to barter for. _Hey Universe, what would you like in exchange for Ronan Lynch? A crappy job? An enabling mother? A best friend who probably can’t wait to cut you from her life?_

 

The only stage left was acceptance. But as the days ticked on and Ronan still never showed, the more Adam refused to accept it. He didn’t care what Ronan said. He would not move on. _He would not move on._

 

* * *

 

 

After a few weeks Adam… sort of moved on.

 

Not from Ronan, of course.

 

But he started to look at job openings, just casually.

 

There were a few non profit companies he had wanted to work for fresh out of college - companies that specialized in designing sustainable and environmentally-conscious buildings and machinery, and an aerospace company who supplied materials to NASA - but were incredibly competitive. Adam hadn’t bothered to apply before, knowing he’d be passed up for someone with a better resume, but having a job already took most of the pressure off.

 

Adam ran into Gansey at the office and told him about the job openings, feeling ridiculously guilty for stepping out on the job Gansey had hooked him up with, but the man just seemed excited. He offered to write a letter of recommendation for Adam, which the latter promptly denied. Despite his refusal, Adam was surprised to find that he wasn’t annoyed at Gansey for offering. Adam was quite sincere when he said, “I’m good, but thanks. I appreciate it.”

 

Occasionally Gansey would ask Adam to hang out, and after turning him down three times in a row, Adam felt he had to accept a dinner invite one Wednesday evening. Gansey ushered him into his apartment looking disheveled. He was wearing his glasses again and rushed through his words; Adam was able to make out, “Emergency -- seating -- only need a minute -- terribly sorry -- Mother -- Blue -- fighting.”

 

Adam gestured to the living room, “I’ll just wait in here?”

 

Gansey gulped down a breath of air. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

 

Adam fell into Gansey’s plush, grey couch and pulled out his phone. He checked his personal email, then his work email, while he waited. When there were no messages left to respond to Adam turned his attention to the coffee table and started to put together Gansey’s incoherent ramblings. There was a giant piece of poster-board sitting on the table that had tables drawn on it. Covering the board were names on scraps of paper, though none were arranged at any tables. Instead, it had looked like someone had taken their arm and brushed them all to the side. There was a large pile of names near the corner of the table and Adam picked through them: _H. Gansey, M. Sargent, R. Malory,_ and there he was, too, _A. Parrish._

 

One name had fallen on the ground, face down. Adam was about to pick it up when Gansey bustled back into the room, looking rather exhausted still.

 

“So sorry, Adam. Had a little, er, wedding drama.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

Adam looked back down at the seating arrangements. Gansey still hadn’t officially asked Adam to be in his wedding, nor did he even talk about the big event much. Adam almost never mentioned it either, knowing it might lead to a wedding party conversation, and avoiding it was easier. Plus, months ago he would have turned Gansey down, polite as he could, but now he wasn’t sure what he’d say.

 

Asking about his current predicament might naturally lead to a conversation about being in the wedding party. Adam looked back at Gansey - took in his fidgeting and the tension in his shoulders - and sighed.

 

“What’s going on? Maybe I can help.”

 

Gansey’s eyes widened. “Oh, uh-- you don’t have to! You didn’t come over to be bogged down by wedding details.”

 

“No, it’s fine. I want to help if I can.” Adam licked his bottom lip. He felt ridiculously nervous considering he was just talking to Gansey. “Friends help friends, right?”

 

Gansey looked immensely pleased by this. He sat up in his seat, shoulders square and spine tight. “Well, it’s just the seating arrangements that are bogging everything down, and though I appreciate the offer for help, I’m not sure there’s much you can do without knowing all the guests. Blue arranged the seating and my mother pitched a fit. Said there was no way _X_ could sit with _Y_ because of their sordid past, but _Y_ also couldn’t sit with _B_ because of this-and-that. But every guest seemed to have some predicament.”

 

“Which of course upset Blue, if your mother wanted to change all the work she’d done already,” Adam said.

 

“Yes. Exactly. And Blue and my mother-- well. She loves Blue, truly, but--”

 

“But it’s Blue.”

 

Gansey’s smile was thin. “Yes. Exactly.”

 

Adam looked at the seating chart again. There was a long rectangle drawn at the top of the chart, likely for the wedding party. Adam drummed his fingers along his thighs before he reached for his own name tag.

 

“Where you going to put this bastard?” He asked, knowing full well that he was opening himself up for _the discussion._

 

Gansey looked at Adam. Looked at him with such a careful expression, as if he knew Adam might scare if he betrayed any emotion. It was different than how Blue used to treat him back when they were younger, though. Adam never got the impression Gansey was tip-toeing around him. Rather, it seemed like Gansey was simply waiting for Adam to make any move at all.

 

“I know that we are still getting to know each other,” Gansey started slowly, breaking eye contact finally to look down at the name tags. He pushed them around with his finger. “But I was hoping you’d consider being in my wedding party.”

 

Adam looked at his name. _A. Parrish._ Agreeing to this felt monumental. If he did this it meant that Adam would finally have to let it go. Let go of the grudge he’d been keeping for years, a grudge he’d stubbornly held onto for stupid, stupid reasons. And though he knew it was irrational, clinging to his dislike of Gansey was so natural and ingrained within him that he wasn’t sure he was _ready_ to let it go.

 

Adam placed his name near the rectangle. “What would I need to do?”

 

“Nothing huge. Malory is giving the speech, God help us all, so really I’m just hoping you’d be up there by my side. And maybe come to my bachelor party.”

 

“Why me, though?” Adam cleared his throat, embarrassed by the words that slipped from his mouth. “I just-- I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I just don’t get why you want _me_ with you. I’m...not the most fun person to be around.”

 

“Nonsense. You’ve always been one of my favorite people to talk to!”  


“But _why?”_

 

“For lots of reasons. Because you’re loyal. Because you’re ambitious. And because you’re whip-smart. I don’t mean this to sound arrogant, but I have a hard time finding people who can keep up with me, so it’s just...nice to be able to do that with you.” Gansey shoved his glasses up his nose. “And, most importantly, you’re insatiable.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” Adam muttered.

 

“But it is! The world is vast and mysterious and has so much potential,” Gansey whispered, voice full of the same awe his words possessed. “I don’t understand how anyone could be satisfied with how the world presents itself. But not you. When I first met Blue, all she could talk about was her best friend Adam Parrish and how he refused to settle for mediocrity. That he’d worked himself to the bone so that he could get where he wanted. And I just remember thinking--”

 

Gansey stopped abruptly, cheeks turning a bit red, “Well. I thought: _that’s the sort of person I want in my life.”_

  
Adam felt a little dazed. This conversation felt so familiar to him. He thought of Ronan, of the way he had taken his cheek in his hand. _When we first met I was so amazed by you. Because you were so smart, and capable, and you knew exactly what you wanted… And now you tell me you have some shit job that makes you miserable, and that you’re willing to throw your entire life away to wait here for me…?_

 

He remembered having that drive. His drive got him through his abuse. When Robert Parrish beat him down with his words and his fists, Adam pushed back, rising from the ground to work even harder, telling himself, _Keep going, keep going, keep going._ That drive propelled him through college, the force that kept him awake during long nights at the garage when he still had an essay to write when he finished at work.

 

But that was before. Now he felt sucked dry. Where was that endless energy he seemed to have in his youth? Was it a product of getting older, or had he lost himself somewhere in the past?

 

“I’m not sure I’m that person anymore,” Adam admitted.

 

Gansey tilted his head to the side, looking thoughtful. He didn’t deny Adam’s claim - not that he could, it was obvious in the way Adam drifted through his life - but Gansey didn’t judge. Instead, he said, “You’ll find him again.”

 

Adam looked down at his hands, suddenly too overwhelmed to look Gansey in the face. Perhaps giving Adam time to decompress, Gansey began to pick up the paper scraps from the table and from the ground, collecting them all in a plastic bag. When he was finished Gansey removed his glasses to clean them with the edge of his shirt.

 

“We’re going up to Portland in a month for my bachelor party. I’ve always wanted to go lobster hunting, and, well, there’s an Welsh Lit expert I’d like to speak with.” Gansey smiled. “Would you consider coming?”

 

Surprisingly Adam didn’t have to think about it. He felt the words slip from his lips instinctively.

 

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

 

* * *

 

 

Adam didn’t hear back from most of his job applications, but he did have a phone interview with one of them. He didn’t expect it to go anywhere and he was surprised to find that was okay. It felt good just to talk to someone about his ambitions again, to be able to talk to someone about topics other than, _“What can we cut to save us money?”_

 

Before the call ended the interviewer asked, “Last question, and the most important: Why do you want this job?”

 

_Adam’s fingers grasped at Ronan’s jacket. “I want something that challenges me.”_

 

“Because it won’t be easy,” Adam said honestly. “I know I’m underqualified. I know I lack the experience of your ideal candidate. But I don’t want a job that’s easy, I want a job that’s rewarding. I don’t -- I think think things worth having come easy.”

 

Maybe he was just getting his hopes up, but Adam thought he could hear a smile in her voice. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Parrish.”  

 

* * *

 

 

The two months that passed after Adam returned from 1942 dragged on at first, but the days were starting to get brighter. Work seemed less daunting when he knew it wasn’t his only option anymore. His loneliness seemed less intense when Gansey sent him excited texts about Portland or Glendower.

 

While his friendship grew with Gansey, Adam knew the gap between him and Blue was widening but he didn’t know how to fix it. What was he supposed to say to her? _Hey, so we’ve both been pretty shitty to each other. Can we pretend it never happened?_

 

Once, Adam had the nerve to ask Gansey what he thought he should do. Gansey, ever the rational one, had simply texted back, _Just talk to her. And be honest._

 

Easier said than done.

 

Gansey’s bachelor party came before Adam had the courage to meet with Blue. They were all meeting at the Gansey house - Malory, Gansey, and Gansey’s friend whom Adam had yet to meet - and would road-trip up to Portland together. Adam was dreading the outing. Though he and Gansey were friends, Blue had mentioned enough about Gansey’s groomsmen to know they were an odd group.

 

His dread grew, however, when he saw Blue’s car parked in the Gansey’s driveway. Sure enough, she was waiting on the doorstep when Adam walked up. She’d pulled her knees to her chest and looked so tiny that Adam’s heart clenched in instant guilt.

 

“Hey,” she said.

 

“What are you doing here?” Adam winced. “I don’t-- Sorry. I didn’t mean it like _that.”_

 

“It’s okay.” She stood up and dusted off the back of her shorts. “I had to talk with Gansey’s mom about a few wedding things. Figured I’d say hello to the guys.”

 

Adam pulled his overnight bag higher on his shoulder. “Cool. I should probably go in, then.”

 

“Malory is napping, so you have some time,” Blue said quickly. She cleared her throat, clearly trying to dial back the panic. “Can we-- Can we talk for a minute?”

 

Fear tempted him to say no. It was Blue’s expression, though, that convinced him: she was gnawing at her bottom lip, eyes trained at the ground. _What had happened to them?_ How did they go from being best friends to hardly speaking?

 

Adam dropped his bag on the front porch and gestured toward the back of the house. “Want to make fun of their obnoxious sculptures?”

 

Blue smiled at him, grateful for the joke, and linked her arm through his. They walked around the edge of the house, back to the gardens. Adam closed his eyes when they passed where the forest used to be, unable to look at the empty field of grass he knew existed in its place. Blue must have realized this because at some point she squeezed his arm, whispering, “We’re past it.”

 

They walked through the garden, quiet at first. Adam didn’t know how to start the conversation, nor did Blue, it seemed. At some point Blue made fun of a shrubbery that was cut to look like - what they assumed - was a whale, but looked more like a misshapen donut.

 

“Adam,” Blue said suddenly, voice serious. “Gansey told me-- Um. Gansey said you’ve been hanging out a lot recently. And I wanted to thank you--”

 

“Don’t,” Adam said quickly. “Don’t thank me. You shouldn’t have to thank me for finally befriending him. I was just… jealous. And confused. And I was being a dick.”

 

Blue’s eyebrows lifted in judgement, but as quick as the expression came, she coughed and hid it once more. Adam couldn’t help it: he laughed.

 

“Sorry,” Blue said.

 

“Don’t be sorry. It’s--” Adam ran a hand through his hair. “Blue, I’ve realized something in the past couple months and I need to tell you, because it’s-- it’s always bothered me. And I never told you.”

 

Blue’s hand tightened against his forearm.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t treat me different. I wish you’d-- fuck, I _want_ you to get angry at me more often,” Adam said. “I feel like you tip-toe around me. It’s like you think I’m going to get upset and turn into my Dad--”

 

“I don’t think that.”

 

“--But I think you do. Even if it’s just subconsciously or something, I don’t know. When we were younger you’d never get mad at me. And for awhile there you treated me normally, you’d be pissy and throw shit at me and Blue, _I liked it._ It made me feel… normal. But then we got in that stupid fight and you went back to treating me like I was a bomb about to explode. I don’t-- I don’t think I’ve ever been a bomb, Blue.”

 

Blue sucked in a quick breath. He thought she might deny it or explain her side, but instead Blue said, “Okay. I can… I can do that.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“Yeah, that’s it.”

 

And it was. It was all it had to be. There was a knot in Adam’s stomach, one that had formed years and years ago, that he’d grown accustomed to. At every minor confrontation Adam would feel it pull, tighter and tighter, until he let go of his end and retreated back. But for once Adam pulled back at it and, like magic, the knot slipped. Suddenly Blue's hand on his arm felt lighter as they continued walking, a support rather than a weight.

 

They continued walking through the garden, Blue’s arm still linked through his, but instantly he felt more at ease. Irritatingly, he could hear Blue’s voice echoing in his head, _If you just talked about it you might feel better!_

 

The conversation turned lighter - Blue asking him about his job search, if he was excited about the trip - and it was so easy and relaxing that it lulled Adam’s heart to a safe place. For a moment he forgot about his struggles completely. He didn’t think of Ronan, or the past; he didn’t think of the ever-present voicemail on his phone from his mother, asking him to call back; he didn’t think of the thirteen hour drive ahead of him, sitting with men he never met.

 

Which meant, of course, that it was perfect timing for the forest to appear.

 

They rounded the corner of the garden and there it was. Blue actually noticed first. She gasped, nails digging into his skin, and it was her reaction that made Adam focus. Because there it was, Cabeswater, right in front of him.

 

“Oh,” Adam said.

 

Blue shut her eyes, expression pained. Adam stared down the forest, wondering if the branches might reach out to him like usual. Adam kept trying to speak but his mouth felt so dry and the words wouldn’t come.

 

Blue was first to speak. Her voice was trembling when she said, “So. That’s it, then, right? You’ll leave again.”

 

“Blue--”

 

“No. Fuck. It’s fine.” Within seconds she was crying. She covered her face with her hands, clearly embarrassed.

 

Adam couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her cry. Maybe the day they’d broken up. It was jarring, especially seeing how quickly she turned from relaxed and cheerful to a girl wrecked with tears. There was a concrete bench nearby. Adam led her to it, forcing her to sit down, before he took her hands from her face.

 

“Blue--”

 

“I’m sorry, Adam, I’m sorry.” Blue pressed one palm to her eye and used the other hand to wipe at her nose. Her face was crumpled. “I just-- I don’t want to lose you, but every time you go back you just stay longer and longer.”

 

Adam didn’t know what to say. It was on the tip of his tongue to deny her, to say, _No, you won’t lose me,_ but wasn’t he willing to do just that only months ago? When Adam landed in the 1940s he fully convinced he would stay there for the rest of his life.

 

_“Don’t live your life revolving around me. Live your life for you. Be happy.”_

 

That’s what Ronan had said: be happy. _Move on._ It had only been two months since he’d returned from the past but Ronan hadn’t found him. Adam was trying, desperately, to not imagine the worst. That Ronan had died in the war, just like he feared, but it was impossible to keep those thoughts away.

 

Yet here was Cabeswater, willing to take him back once more. What did that _mean?_

 

Adam was suddenly exhausted. Was this what life would be like? Endlessly traveling back and forth, wondering whether fate was real and trying to tell him something important, something valuable, or was it all a joke? Maybe the universe hated him and Adam simply couldn’t accept it. There was enough proof to believe that, somewhere, someone was laughing at him.

 

Adam stared at the forest. It was an evening for honesty, though, so Adam said, “I don’t know what to do.”

 

Blue inhaled, breath shaking, and she fisted her hands into the material of her shorts. “I’m biased.”

 

“I don’t care. Tell me what you think.”

 

Blue used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe at her eyes. She was trying to control her tears and failing. Once she’d gotten ahold of her voice, though, she said, “Adam, I love you. And I want you to be happy. But sometimes I worry you’re never going to move on from your past.”

 

His past. Adam wasn’t even sure what she meant. Did she mean Ronan, or did she mean it all? He thought of Robert Parrish and his fists and cruel words. He thought of his mother, of being abandoned. He thought of nights where he barely slept, either too hungry or too scared to relax into his bed. He thought of his bones, aching and bruised far too young.

 

Blue reached for his hand and squeezed it.

 

“Your answers are never going to be in the past,” Blue said, voice steadying. “You asked what I thought and here it is: Adam Parrish has always been best when he is relentlessly working toward his future.”

 

Adam let her words linger while he looked at Cabeswater. It was hard not to look at it and to see Ronan. It was a part of him, after all. But Blue was right. He spent so much of his life working toward the future - whether it was escaping his parents house, or getting into college, or inventing something that changed the world - but all that stopped when he went to the past.

 

But Adam didn’t regret going to the past. He couldn’t. He would never regret meeting Ronan. And could he really pass up the opportunity to see him again? What if this was the last chance?

 

_“I would do anything to find you again. There’s no one else for me out there. So… if I don’t find you… Please don’t wait for me.”_

 

Ronan. He wanted Ronan. He missed Ronan. He loved Ronan. But--

 

“If you want to go, you should go,” Blue whispered. “You were right. I have Gansey, and he’s everything to me, and it’s unfair for me to not let you have that opportunity.”

 

Blue was crying again. Adam put her arm around her and pulled her to him. Then he looked back one more time at the forest.

 

“No. You’re right. I can’t-- I can’t keep doing this,” Adam said. He sighed, exhaling out his regrets and his disappointments. “Anyway, I’m here for Gansey. I promised him I’d go. It wouldn’t be right.”

 

Blue buried her head into Adam’s shoulder, crying harder. It made Adam laugh, suddenly, and he muttered, “You’re supposed to be _happy_ about that.”

 

“I am!” came the muffled response.

 

Adam couldn’t be around the forest any longer. He knew any minute the branches would start calling for him and he had no resistance against the friendly forest. He gave Blue a minute to recover before pulling her back toward the house. He told himself not to look back. He told himself not to regret his choice.

 

He really needed to get back to the house before he could change his mind.

 

“I need you to distract me,” Adam pleaded. “Tell me about Gansey’s groomsmen. I only know about the cranky old one.”

 

“Well, there’s only one other guy,” Blue said quickly, instantly jumping at the topic change to help Adam out. “I didn’t like him very much at first, but he’s a good guy. You just have to look past the outer layer.”

 

“Is he an onion or something?”

 

“God, you know what I mean.”

 

“What’s his name again?” Adam frowned. Had Blue ever mentioned it? He couldn’t remember. (Though there was a good chance she’d told him and he’d zoned out.)

 

Blue flushed. “I don’t want to tell you.”

 

“What? _Why?”_

 

“Because you’ll just judge him before you know him,” Blue said. At Adam’s incredulous expression she said, “No, seriously! I say this from experience. It’s an awful name. Sounds like something out of a cheesy, young adult novel.”

 

“Says someone named Blue…”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Blue reached up and ruffled her hand through his hair, then laughed when it stuck straight up. She smoothed it down before she pulled him to the house. They were nearing the house now - the back of the Gansey’s porch, to be precise, which had a picnic table set up with various refreshments. Blue fell into one of the seats and reached for a pitcher of lemonade, then abruptly she instead turned to a pitcher of unknown substances and sniffed it. Whatever she smelled lit her face up.

 

“Fancy a Long Island, Mr. Parrish?”

 

“I’m good.”

 

Blue shrugged and poured herself a glass. Adam took a seat next to her. He wasn’t thirsty but the drinks offered a distraction, so he poured himself a glass of lemonade.

 

“How do I look?” Blue asked, gesturing to her eyes. They were puffy from crying, which he warned her about. Blue pressed the bottom of the glass to her skin and sighed. “Oh well. All I do is cry lately, the Ganseys are used to it.”

 

Before Adam could question why, Blue hollered into the open door for Gansey. Gansey appeared within a few seconds, eyes widening in delight when he saw Adam. “Oh, you’re here!”

 

“Sorry, I stole him,” Blue said. “His bag is on the porch. Do you mind?”

 

Gansey’s eyes drifted from Blue’s face, then to Adam, though he betrayed no emotion. “I’ll go get it, then.” As he went back inside, Adam could hear his voice drift to another person, saying, “They’re outside if you want to join.”

 

Adam turned back to the view. From here he could only see the Ganseys’ elaborate gardens, Cabeswater safely hidden from view. He focused on the roses - bright yellow and orange and soft pink, like the sunset - and told himself that this was for the best. He was moving on. _He was moving on._

 

“Hey Blue,” said a voice from behind him. It sounded vaguely familiar. The hairs on Adam’s arms stood. “Ready to give up your husband for a weekend?”

 

“He’s not my husband _yet,_ ” Blue said. She held out her hand to the man. “Come here. I want you to meet Adam Parrish.”

 

Adam turned his head toward the voice. Why was it so familiar?

 

“Holy shit. _Adam?”_

 

“You two know each other?”

 

Then, suddenly, Adam knew exactly why he recognized the voice. Behind him was a familiar face. Standing behind him, looking polished and perfect, was--

 

“Tad?” Adam asked, voice low. Fuck. _Fuck._ “You’re-- You know Gansey?”

 

Tad Fucking Carruthers stood on Gansey’s porch grinning wildly. He was wearing a salmon polo and white board shorts. He looked ridiculous, and also exactly like he did in his Tinder profile Adam regrettably messaged all those years ago.

 

“Holy shit, this is such a small world,” Tad said, coming around the table to sit next to Adam. He leaned on his palm and stared, practically starry eyed. “It’s like fate or something, running into you again.”

 

Blue was looking back and forth between the two suspiciously. Adam was sure he was doing a terrible job keeping the annoyance off his face. It had been years since he’d talked to Tad but he could still remember their date when he was 22. They’d matched on Tinder, a rare moment where Adam decided to give online dating a try, and talked for awhile before meeting up. It was during the height of Adam’s rebound phase - having just come back from London and missing Ronan - and Adam didn’t make the best choices. He’d gotten drunk, so had Tad, they’d made out a little, and then did a lot more than that, and Adam assumed they were on the same page about the whole fling thing.

 

But then Tad kept contacting him. And contacting him. When Adam didn’t respond on Tinder, Tad found him on Facebook. The whole ordeal was so annoying that Adam ended up deleting all of his social media accounts.

 

“How do you two know each other?” Blue said slowly.

 

Tad cupped his hand to his cheek and laughed. “God. I don’t even want to say.”

 

Blue’s face lit up in delight. Adam quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her from the chair. “Blue, can I talk to you for a minute?”

 

Gansey arrived at the porch again carrying Adam’s bag. He set it down and smiled at Adam, “Oh good! You’ve met Tad. I want to let Malory sleep a bit longer but--”

 

“Sorry Gansey, Blue and I need to talk again,” Adam said quickly, pulling her back into the house. Gansey watched them leave with a perplexed expression, and as they walked further into the house, Adam heard Gansey say, “Tad, what did you do?”

 

Adam found one of the Gansey’s many abandoned rooms to pull Blue into. She collapsed onto the floral loveseat cackling like a madwoman. “Oh, my God! Adam! Your face! Your face!”

 

“Tad Carruthers? _Tad Carruthers?!_ How could you not mention that _he_ was in Gansey’s party?”

 

“How was I supposed to know you fucked him?” Blue asked, still howling. “Let me guess, was this during your rebellious rebound-stage of your life? There were too many people to keep track of Adam, and you never told me their names. You _never_ tell me their names, you weirdo. If I know their name at all it’s by sneaking into your business.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Adam snapped. He leaned over, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his face in his knees, and groaned. “Blue, you don’t even know. He showed up to our date wearing _a purple suit._ No, wait. _Lavender._ ”

 

Blue snorted. “Not surprising. The first time Gansey introduced me to Tad he wore a neon green shirt with flamingos on it. Boy has no style.”

 

“This is so embarrassing. God, what am I going to do?” Blue was still laughing and it was annoying, but soon Adam found himself laughing too.

 

This was absurd. _Absurd._ What had Tad said? It was _fate?_ Adam had spent the past ten years arguing whether or not fate was real, whether the universe had any big, grand plan for his life, but this was not what he meant. He did _not_ want that plan to include Tad Carruthers.

 

“He’s really not that bad,” Blue said eventually, once the giggles had subsided. “I know he’s garish and ridiculous, but he’s really sweet. I think it’s all a front.”

 

Adam slapped his hand over his eyes and sighed. “He wrote me a poem, Blue. A _poem._ Possibly about my dick. The metaphor was unclear. _”_

 

“Oh, my God, shush.” She kicked her toes into his side.

 

Adam knew it was cruel but he couldn’t help poking at Tad. The truth was, as much as the boy annoyed him, he’d barely thought of Ronan or the forest since Tad arrived. Adam would poke and poke and poke at Tad if it meant not spending the weekend regretting his choice.

 

“This is going to be the wildest wedding party,” Adam muttered. He held his hand out, as if painting a picture. “We’ll have Gansey, our prince, looking perfect. Me, in my shitty, second-hand suit. Following him will be Tad Carruthers, who will probably insist on wearing a baby blue tuxedo or some nonsense. And then, finally, we have an old man. What a group.”

 

Blue was trying hard not to laugh, he could tell. Her lips kept twitching in amusement.

 

Adam added, “Oh, speaking of Malory, does he have a cane? Or a walker? Maybe we can bedazzle it for kicks.”

 

Blue rolled her eyes at that. “Oh, my God, Adam. He’s not _that_ old.”

 

This made the laughter die on Adam’s lips. “What?”

 

“I didn’t mean he’s like, an actual old man. God, that _would_ be fucked up. He’s like 35 or something. I’ve never really asked.”

 

“That’s not… _old,”_ Adam muttered, feeling suddenly very strange. There was something picking at the edge of his brain. _Malory._ Why did that name suddenly sound so familiar?

 

“Yeah, but that’s like, our joke. He calls me maggot, so I call him an old man. It’s-- you’ll see when you meet him.”

 

Blue began picking at her nails. She seemed nonplussed by this conversation and it set Adam on edge. Adam sucked in a quick breath. This was stupid. Why was he getting excited? The seed of hope needing to be crushed before it bloomed, so he asked in confirmation, “But he’s 35?”

 

“I think? I’m just assuming. Gansey was fourteen when they met, and he had to be at least in his mid-twenties at that point. And that was over ten years ago, so yeah, probably 35.” She lowered her voice and rolled her eyes. “Not that you’d know it. Genes of an angel, that one. I will give him so much shit the day he gets his first grey.”

 

Adam felt dizzy. Malory. _Malory._ He’d heard that name before-- Back in the 1940s. He could place it now. The sergeant who picked Ronan up. Ronan had called him Malory.

 

_“Do you steal other people’s names often?”_

 

Adam thought of the name card on Gansey’s coffee table. R. Malory.

 

“Malory. That’s his--” Adam cleared his throat. “That’s his last name, right? What’s his-- Um, what’s his first name?”

 

Blue had caught on by now that something was the matter. She was looking at him oddly and had moved out of her seat to slide closer to him, clearly concerned.

 

“It’s Ronan. Why?”

 

Adam thought he might faint. _Ronan. Ronan Malory._ He thought of Blue saying, _Genes of an angel, that one._ It was Ronan. It was Ronan. _It was Ronan._

 

He was out of his seat before Blue could question his reaction. She followed after him, yelling his name, but he ignored her. Malory was sleeping, supposedly, which meant if it was Ronan-- Somewhere in the house--

 

God, but the Ganseys had so many rooms.

 

Adam raced back to the back porch instead, knowing the fastest route to Ronan was asking Gansey. Tad was still sitting, sipping a Long Island that somehow had procured a tiny umbrella despite there being none on the table, while Gansey stood on the porch talking to someone. No, not someone--

 

Adam recognized those shoulders. The buzzed hair. He was thrown, momentarily, by a dark tattoo that snaked out from the black tank-top, out to his shoulders and up through his neck.

 

Gansey’s eyes slid to meet his. “Oh, Adam, there you are.”

 

The man turned over his shoulder to look at Adam. He face was stern, a little harsh, but there was the hint of a smile on his lips. When he locked eyes with Adam the smile lifted, higher, and Adam forgot to breathe.

 

Gansey gestured to the man. “Adam, this is--”

 

But there was no need for introductions of course. As Gansey said his name - “Ronan” - Adam took a step toward him, hardly believing it was real. But then Ronan tugged Adam to him by the fabric of his sweatshirt, flush against him, and smiled.

 

“See?” Ronan said. “I told you I’d find you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My greatest twist of all. 
> 
> Please come scream at me in the comments. I'm so curious what you think. 
> 
> (So sorry I didn't get to replying to everyone's comments last chapter, but I PROMISE I will do it this round. I had to go to a bachelorette weekend thing and it sucked up a lot of my time.)


	14. We Made it This Far, Didn't We?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I would respond to everyone's reviews last chapter and then YOU GAVE ME OVER 120 REVIEWS, holy moly! First off, thank you so, so much for the amazing response. I didn't even know that many people read this story, so it was pretty shocking (in the best way) to see that response. However, I did not get to responding to everyone like I said I would so I'm sorry I went back on my promise! But there came a point where I was like, "I could either take another week to respond to these, or I could just post the next chapter," and I felt like, overall, people would probably prefer the latter, ha.

Ronan was in his time. Ronan was in _ his  _ time. It was 2017 and Ronan was holding him, body warm and solid and very, very real. Adam knew he was staring but couldn’t pull his eyes away. Ronan looked the same and so very different. The tattoo - he had a  _ tattoo _ , a giant tattoo from the looks of it - and he was wearing  _ jeans _ and a muscle shirt and it felt so very wrong and yet completely right.

 

“Did I break you?” Ronan asked. He did not have an American accent and Adam was grateful for it. It grounded Ronan, made him seem more familiar.

 

“Woah, Malory, I don’t know how you Brits do it, but you can’t just grab a stranger,” Tad said, appearing on Adam’s left without warning. Tad pried Adam out of Ronan’s grasp, his own hands lingering on Adam’s shoulders longer than necessary. “Adam, this is Ronan Malory. Gansey’s  _ oldest _ friend. And I mean that literally.”

 

“What? Tad, stop.” Adam was annoyed and he couldn’t keep it out of his tone. 

 

What was Tad  _ doing? _ Adam pushed forward to touch Ronan again, grabbing onto his shirt at his waist.  _ Warm. Ronan was so warm. _ Adam wanted to touch him more but there were so many people around, and without realizing it he let a whine escape from his throat. It was a sound Adam almost never made and it clearly surprised Gansey. Or maybe he was confused by the entire situation. Gansey’s eyes kept darting back and forth between Ronan and Adam - taking in the soft smile on Ronan’s face and Adam’s look of awe - and then his mouth dropped open. 

 

“Oh, my God,” Gansey said. He lifted his finger to point at them. “You’re-- You’re the guy.”

 

Blue must have followed them out because, from behind him, he heard her say, “I thought his name was  _ Henry. _ ”

 

Adam didn’t want to break his gaze from Ronan, so even though confused, he refused to look back at Blue. “What?”

 

_ “Henry?” _ Ronan’s eyes narrowed but the smile on his lips was playful. “Do you have something to tell me, Adam?”

 

“I don’t know what they’re talking about,” Adam breathed. 

 

“Am I missing something here?”

 

_ Go away, Tad, _ Adam thought. He reached his free hand to Ronan’s shoulder, fingers dusting over it like Ronan would evaporate at the touch. Adam shut his eyes, feeling overwhelmed. 

 

“Uhh, Gansey, wasn’t there something you wanted to run by Tad? About the wedding?” Blue said.

 

“Ohhhh,  _ yes, _ that’s right. Tad, would you come with me for a moment?”

 

“Shouldn’t the other guys--”

 

Gansey shooed Tad inside, practically having to shove him, as he mumbled something about his fashion expertise. Adam turned to Blue to offer a grateful smile. She just poked her two fingers at her own eyes, then pointed them at Ronan, and hissed, “Ohhh, we are  _ so _ going to be talking about this later.”

 

Once alone, Ronan’s hands came to Adam’s neck, cradling him gently, before he rested his forehead against his. “I’m sorry I made you wait. I had my reasons.”

 

Distantly Adam realized he should be annoyed. Ronan knew  _ Gansey, _ apparently since Gansey was fourteen. That was over ten years for him to find Adam. It should have made him angry, but he stored that thought away and focused on the lightness of his heart. Ronan was alive and Ronan was  _ here _ . 

 

“Blue told me all about you, but she kept saying you were old, and so I thought-- I was picturing this old man.”

 

“Yeah, it’s a joke we have. She calls me an old man and I call her a maggot,” Ronan muttered, pulling his forehead away to gaze at Adam. “Before the war-- that was the last time you came to visit me, so I hoped that this would finally be the time we would get to meet.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Cabeswater. It follows me.” Ronan combed back Adam’s hair, lips twitching into a smile. “For a while there I thought we’d never meet. If I got within twenty feet of you, you’d see the forest and go in.”

 

“Wait-- Have we-- Have we been in the same place before now?”

 

Adam didn’t get to hear the answer. Tad appeared in the doorway again looking agitated. “Look, guys, are we going to get this show on the road or what?”

 

Blue and Gansey looked frazzled behind Tad, clearly having run after him. Gansey cleared his throat and suggested, “Maybe we should reschedule. Circumstances have… changed.” 

 

“Uhh, like what?” Tad raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow at Ronan and Adam. “We’re all here. The house is booked. Is this about Ronan and Adam? I’m just going to say it: there’s a lot of awkward tension in this room right now.”

 

“Um, no, we should still go,” Adam muttered, pulling away from Ronan. He didn’t ever want to let go of Ronan, but with Tad’s eyes on them, it was kind of ruining the mood. “We’re here to celebrate Gansey.”

 

“Oh, pshaw,” Gansey said. “We could reschedule. It’s fine.”

 

“See, Adam? Gansey is fine with it,” Ronan said. 

 

_ “Dude,  _ I flew in from Cali for this. And that house cost a couple grand--”

 

_ “A couple grand?” _ Adam choked. He loved Ronan, but there was no way he was going to let everyone waste that much money. “No, it’s fine. We’ll all go,  _ as planned. _ ”

 

Ronan huffed. Gansey shifted awkwardly, looking to Blue for help in the least subtle move he’d ever committed in his life. Tad, on the other hand, pumped his fist in satisfaction and hooted.

 

“Bachelor party is ON!”

 

* * *

 

 

Which is how Adam found himself in the incredibly awkward position of being stuck in the backseat of a BMW, staring at the man he loved in the rear-view mirror, while an ex-fling sat beside him talking about what had transpired since they last hooked up. (Adam didn’t even want to get into the clusterfuck that was Gansey. The bachelor boy in question couldn’t stop staring at Ronan, eyes wide. Adam could only assume he was questioning the past ten years of their friendship.)

 

“Anyway, the East Coast is my home but I needed a fresh start, you know? God, I’ve been talking forever. Super rude. What’s life been like for you?”

 

From the rear-view mirror, Adam saw Ronan lock eyes with him. He was grinning, that bastard. Why wasn’t he more shocked by the whole situation? Adam calculated it in his head and it had been  _ seventy five years _ since Ronan had seen him. How could he be so normal? How could he think it was  _ funny? _

 

Adam had the distinct awareness that, ten years from now, he’d look back at this scene and laugh, too. But  _ fuck, _ he was so annoyed right now. When it came time to choose who sat where, Gansey insisted that Adam sit up front with Ronan - clearly knowing Adam would want to be as close to him as possible - but did Tad allow that?  _ No.  _ No, Tad had to insist, and then not just insist but  _ argue, _ that Gansey had to be in front.  _ (“He’s the bachelor! The bachelor doesn’t sit in the back! Come on.”) _

 

So Adam was stuck in the back seat with Tad Carruthers. Tad wouldn’t stop talking and kept finding excuses to touch Adam - like picking imaginary lint off his shoulder or leaning his knee against Adam’s. Adam didn’t want to talk to Tad, and he certainly didn’t want to be touched by him. He wanted that from  _ Ronan,  _ who wouldn’t stop staring at him through the rear-view mirror even though he was fucking driving and--

 

“Adam? You there, bud?”

 

“Huh?” Adam looked away from Ronan and to Tad. “What did you say?”

 

“What is  _ with _ you, man?” Tad leaned close and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Am I crazy, or are things super weird between Ronan and you? Did you sleep with him, too?”

 

The car abruptly swerved to the right. Gansey bumped his head on the glass, muttering “Ouch!” under his breath. Adam caught Ronan’s eyes in the mirror again, but this time Ronan looked away. 

 

“Sorry. Out of gas,” Ronan muttered.

 

He pulled into a gas station and parked the car. Ronan shifted in his seat to pull his wallet from his back pocket, removed a twenty dollar bill, and threw it at Tad. “Get us some food and drinks. Whatever Gansey wants.”

 

“This isn’t going to cover anything but Bud Light and a bag of chips,” Tad muttered.

 

Gansey cleared his throat. Adam didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on Ronan when he said, “No alcohol this weekend, Tad. It’s not necessary.”

 

“What?  _ Why?” _

 

“Tad, would you fucking get the snacks already?” Ronan growled. 

 

Tad cringed, muttering something nasty about Ronan under his breath. Gansey offered Adam and Ronan an apologetic smile for his friend. “I’ll make sure to stall him for a bit. So that you two can… talk.” After Gansey had untangled himself from the passenger seat, though, he popped his head back in and said, “But, um, maybe later tonight you could fill me in a little bit, too? I’m a bit… perplexed.”

 

Ronan waved his hand dismissively before exiting the car himself. Once Gansey was safe inside, Adam rolled down his window and leaned out of it, needing to speak to Ronan. Ronan didn’t look at him; instead, he focused on typing in his debit card information and choosing the type of gas. From his mood, Adam could only assume that Ronan had heard what Tad had said and misunderstood.

 

Instead of tackling it head on, Adam asked, “No alcohol, still?”

 

Ronan shoved the gas nozzle into the car and locked the tab into place so that it filled automatically. Then he muttered, “I’m an alcoholic, Adam.”

 

“I know, but I wasn’t sure… Well, it’s been 75 years…”

 

Now that the gas was filling automatically, Ronan leaned one arm above the frame of the window and slipped his other hand through the window. Adam had one moment of blind panic - mind thinking only of Ronan abruptly pulling the car over, of Ronan thinking he’d cheated on him - but his worries were eased the moment Ronan slipped his fingers through Adam’s.

 

“God, I missed you,” Ronan whispered. Adam hardly heard him over the sound of the cars passing on the highway.

 

“I’m sorry,” Adam said. “I can’t even imagine… Seventy five years is… a lot.”

 

“A bit longer than two months,” Ronan hummed.

 

“How’d you know that?” Adam was referring, of course, to how long had passed for him since he visited Ronan in the 1940s. Tho se months had passed slow - though nothing like the year Adam spent recovering from Paris - but it was nothing compared to Ronan.

 

“You stayed at my farm, back when you went to Connecticut,” Ronan said. “I stayed in Declan’s house, a quarter mile down the road. Didn’t want to risk anything.”

 

Adam’s head was spinning again.  _ Ronan was there that day? They were less than a mile apart? _ He thought about that awful year - spending hours and hours in bed, the constant fights with Blue, being so numb he used to pinch his own skin to remind himself he still felt something - and they could have been together all this time?

 

It must have shown on his face because Ronan brought Adam’s hands to his lips. “I never knew if it would fuck everything up. If I found you early. Because  _ I _ knew you visited me when you were 25, back during the war, and you told me I still hadn’t found you. If I found you early what would that mean for our relationship? Would it change it? Have some fucking, I don’t know, causal loop or grandfather complex or something?”

 

“A what…?” Adam was getting unnecessarily distracted by the feel of Ronan’s lips on his skin.  _ Focus Adam, _ he thought.  _ You’re supposed to be angry at him. _

 

“How do you not know about temporal paradoxes? You study everything.” When Adam continued to stare at him blankly, Ronan said, “They’re like-- you know, time travel problems. Sort of, ‘chicken or the egg’ scenarios. Does the future event cause the past event, or when you change something and it causes a ripple effect. You really don’t know this?”

 

Adam shook his head. “No. I’ve never really thought to research time travel.”

 

Ronan dropped his hand.  _ “What? Never? _ I researched the fuck out of it.  _ Me. _ ”

 

“Did you research for  _ me? _ Wow. That’s kind of romantic.”

 

“Fuck you,” Ronan muttered, no heat in his words. Now that he’d abandoned Adam’s hand, he instead reached to trail his fingers into Adam’s hair. “I thought this would be the type of shit you’d eat up. You wanted to work for NASA, right? They study that shit.”

 

“They do  _ not,” _ Adam said hotly. It’d been years since he’d really, truly dreamed about working for NASA, but the urge to defend them came rushing back. (Which was absurd, really. Adam was literal proof that time travel  _ did _ exist, and yet somehow he still didn’t want NASA ruining its reputation by discussing the possibility of time-travel. Yeah, time-travel was real, but Adam was quite certain that no one knew the reality of it like he did.)

 

“Jesus, how do  _ I _ know this and you don’t?”

 

“Can we just get back to the fact that you’ve done research.  _ For me? _ ” Adam grinned. His heart was still heavy from the truth of the day, and he wasn’t sure how to grasp that Ronan had been in his life for years, but bantering like this with Ronan again made everything slip away.

 

“I wasn’t going to jeopardize being with you,” Ronan mumbled. There was an edge to his tone - an almost childish defensiveness - and it was utterly charming when combined with Ronan’s look. Adam couldn’t stare at him for too long without getting overwhelmed. It was his Ronan - of course it was - but he wore ripped jeans and leather and had a tattoo.

 

Adam didn’t know how he felt about the tattoo. 

 

The more Adam stared at him, the softer Ronan’s expression grew. He leaned into the window of the car and titled Adam’s chin up, toward him, in a silent request.

 

Adam wasn’t sure what to do at first. Ronan wanted to kiss him and it seemed so wrong. Because aside from the people surrounding them, it was in the middle of a  _ gas _ station. The air smelled of gasoline and overcooked hot dogs, and kisses were important and powerful. Kissing Ronan needed to be perfect. 

 

But Adam couldn’t resist Ronan, not ever, and he soon found himself arching forward, kissing Ronan’s bottom lip.

 

As soon as Ronan’s lips touched his, Adam realized that this gas station, of all places, was actually perfect  _ because _ of its imperfections. Because for once in their romance the kiss was casual and unhurried and easy. Why  _ not _ kiss at the gas station? They could kiss anywhere they wanted, at any time. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t the most romantic kiss of all time, because suddenly time didn’t matter. They could have infinite kisses - sweet kisses, passionate kisses, angry kisses, or probably even meaningless kisses - and  _ that _ , in itself, made it impossible for Adam not to smile.

 

Ronan inched away and whispered, “What’s so funny?”

 

“This is the most unromantic kiss I’ve ever had,” Adam said. From this close, Adam could see Ronan’s eyebrows pull together in confusion. Adam added, “And it’s my favorite.”

 

Adam didn’t know if Ronan could trace his thought process, but it didn’t matter. He seemed content to just kiss Adam again, and kiss him again, and kiss him again. They kissed in the middle of that shitty gas station until Gansey and Tad returned. Then Ronan went back to front seat, eyes still stuck in the rear-view mirror, as if he were never going to take his eyes off Adam.

 

* * *

 

 

They landed at the house in Portland late in the evening, the sun having already set, effectively hiding what Adam imagined would be beautiful scenery. (Though it occurred to Adam, as he looked out the kitchen window and into the darkness, that Ronan’s forest would probably travel with them. Sure enough it appeared the next afternoon, lagging behind them in their journey. Adam learned that this was, apparently, quite normal. “It’s a giant fucking forest,” Ronan had defended. “It can’t travel as fast as me.”)

 

Adam should have felt exhausted, but the trip left him jittery. All he wanted to do was be with Ronan. He was tired of Tad, tired of sitting inches from Ronan and not being able to touch him. Still, it was Gansey’s party and Adam had to be careful not to ruin his weekend.

 

Thankfully, Gansey wanted to call it an early night. After everyone chose their respective rooms, Gansey said he was turning in. However, he first beckoned Ronan to the living room. As Ronan trailed back down the stairs, he mouthed a quick,  _ “Sorry” _ to Adam.

 

Tad instantly turned to Adam, mouth open in what Adam could only imagine was a suggestion to hang out. Too tired of fending off Tad’s advances all day, Adam faked a large yawn, yelped, “Night, Tad!” and shut the door behind him.

 

Adam spent the next half hour unpacking his small bag. He refolded his clothes, suddenly needing his simple t-shirts to be wrinkle-free, and then took out his toiletries. He brushed his teeth and washed his face. He fiddled with his phone, played a few games, answered a few emails. When Ronan still didn’t come, Adam researched the grandfather complex and causal loops. It was interesting, really, and Adam was beginning to understand Ronan’s worry. 

 

But despite its intrigue, as soon as he heard a knock on his door, Adam tossed his phone to the side with little care. Knowing who it was, Adam smoothed down his hair and adjusted his sweatshirt, cringing at his choice to bring his old, Yale crewneck instead of something nicer. Ronan knocked again, more persistently, so Adam sucked it up and answered.

 

Ronan was leaning against the doorframe. “Want to go for a walk?”

 

“No,” Adam answered honestly. “You should just come inside.”

 

“I’m not having sex with you until there there’s at least 500 miles between us and Tad Carruthers.”

 

“But think how fun it would be if he could hear us through the walls,” Adam countered.

 

Ronan’s smile was grim. Adam sighed. He didn’t want to push the subject, half wondering whether Tad was just a convenient excuse for Ronan to avoid sex for the time being. Not wanting to pressure him, but also knowing staying inside his bedroom, alone, was a terrible choice, he resigned himself to the walk. 

 

They snuck out of the house, past Gansey - who was still in the living room, curled up on the couch and talking to Blue intently on the phone - and began walking around the area. It was dark, and much colder than DC, and Ronan wore nothing heavier than a flannel button-down. Adam leaned into him, pressing shoulder to shoulder, and laced his fingers into Ronan’s.

 

Ronan hummed happily. “Hi.”

 

“Hey.” 

 

A good deal of time went by without either of them speaking. It didn’t bother Adam, honestly, not when he got to hold Ronan’s hand without a care, but it clearly bothered Ronan. He scratched the back of his head, hand lingering there to brush against the soft hairs. “I don’t-- I never know what to say. There’s too much.”

 

“You mean you  _ can’t _ summarize the past 75 years in a sentence or two?”

 

Adam meant it as a joke, but Ronan frowned. “Let’s see. The war fucking sucked. Spent the next ten years drunk. Became an uncle. Pulled my shit together. Then fucked it up again when the 70s hit, but who didn’t, really? Spent the 80s hiding from the 80s. Spent some time in London again. Met Gansey--”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Adam squeezed Ronan’s hand. “I was just kidding and now you’ve just thrown a million things at me.”

 

Ronan let out a low, throaty sound in frustration and pressed the palm of his free hand into his eye. “I hate this. I hate talking, I hardly do it anymore. You were right, we should have just had sex.”

 

Adam pulled Ronan’s hand back from his eye so that he held both hands. He kept them at their sides. “Let’s-- Let’s start slow. This weekend is about Gansey, so let’s start there.”

 

Ronan rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath of air. Despite his complaints, the change of subject seemed to instantly relieve him. Ronan began walking again, making sure that he was still holding onto Adam’s hand.

 

“I moved back to London for a bit. Came for the real Malory’s funeral, actually, and decided to stay awhile and visit some of the cities we stayed in during the war. So I’m backpacking in the country when I encounter this scrawny little nerd who couldn’t build his tent.”

 

“Gansey?”

 

“Obviously,” Ronan muttered. “I feel bad for him because he’s a kid. Told him he could have my tent and I’d sleep outside, but the idiot doesn’t know about stranger danger and insists we can share--”

 

Adam didn’t want to interrupt Ronan when he’d finally started talking, but he couldn’t help think back to their very first meeting, long before the concept of  _ stranger danger _ crossed Ronan’s mind.

 

“--and we start chatting. He tells me he’s searching for information on--”

 

“Glendower.”

 

“Yeah, he hasn’t changed much over the years,” Ronan muttered. The smile on his lips betrayed how he really felt about that, though. “Anyway, I’m sitting there thinking,  _ ‘Wow, he’s insane,’ _ but trying not to be an ass, because he’s a kid and all, when he suddenly introduces himself. And fuck, not even a hundred years would make me forget a name like  _ Richard Campbell Gansey the Third _ .”

 

“To be fair, I complained about him all the time.”

 

“That you did,” Ronan agreed, voice soft. “To be honest, I’d lost track of time a bit at this point. Didn’t know what year it was, barely even knew the decade. I think, distantly, I realized you’d probably been born, but I wasn’t going to look you up when you were a fucking baby. But then I met Gansey and-- I don’t know. It was such a fucking trip. I had forgotten how magical it all was, you and me. That we’re… supposed to be together.”

 

Adam didn’t know what to say to that, heart beating too wild to say anything he wouldn’t regret, so instead he muttered, “You say ‘fuck’ a lot more now.”

 

“It’s a good fucking word.”

 

Adam cleared his throat. “So you kept in touch with him?”

 

“Yeah. He thought we were fellow history buffs, a ruse I’ve  _ not _ enjoyed keeping up for all this time, by the way, but I kept in touch because I knew he’d meet you eventually. We emailed mostly, and I don’t know. He was lame, but like, something about him is ridiculously endearing--”

 

“It’s annoying,” Adam said.

 

“Fucking annoying!” Ronan agreed. “I didn’t tell him I lived in America until he went to college, because I didn’t feel  _ as _ creepy hanging out with him. Long story short, he’s my best friend and he doesn’t care that I’m supposedly 35.”

 

“You don’t have to defend yourself, Ronan. I like him, too.”

 

“Took you long enough…”

 

Adam ignored that remark. They had reached a small lake, and though it was an edge just too cold, Adam didn’t want to go back to the house. He pulled Ronan to the the shore and looked for skipping stones, placing a few in Ronan’s open palm once the task was successful. They took turns skipping the stones in silence. The reason for Ronan’s sudden silence was hard to guess - perhaps he was just overwhelmed - but Adam’s hesitancy was due to the difficult question he wanted to ask. He’d been chewing on it the entire car ride but knew, instinctively, that it might lead to an argument.

 

“Spit it out,” Ronan said finally.

 

“I just-- I can’t believe you’re this normal about seeing me again, honestly. It’s been 75 years.”

 

Ronan inhaled a quick breath through his nose. “Yeah. Well… That’s not… Completely true.” 

 

When Adam threw his stone this time it landed in the water with a thud, immediately sinking. It seemed fitting. As the day progressed - and the more Ronan gave away little hints - Adam had began to suspect Ronan had been orbiting around his life for years without saying anything.

 

Sensing Adam’s anger, Ronan sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “I lived… in Henrietta. While you grew up.”

 

_ “The whole time?” _ Adam bit. Something was worrying at him, a thought at the back of his mind that he couldn’t formulate, and it made his tone clipped. 

 

“Mainly. Just after meeting Gansey, when I realized you’d be fourteen already. I found a little farm just outside the city, did my business there for awhile…” He was watching Adam’s face carefully. “I didn’t, like,  _ watch _ you or anything. I kept my distance.”

 

Adam exhaled his relief. _Okay,_ he thought. _He said he kept his distance. That means he didn’t know._ _Good._

 

Another little voice argued,  _ Why does it matter if he knows about your dad?  _ It sounded suspiciously like Blue. 

 

Probably due to Adam’s continued silence, Ronan clearly took it as him being still upset, because he added, “I know it’s weird, but you told me you visited me when you were sixteen, so in order to not fuck with the timeline I knew I needed to be near Henrietta. For you to find the forest.”

 

“It’s fine. I get it. Time travel is weird,” Adam muttered. He was desperate to move the conversation past Henrietta and its demons. “And then where did you go?”

 

“I didn’t want to follow you to college. That seemed too weird. And God, I fucking hate college towns.” Ronan tossed a stone in the air, up and down, up and down. “I was in town one day when I heard someone talk about your father -- well, about his funeral. You said the forest disappeared after--”

 

“So you left,” Adam confirmed, wanting to get past  _ this _ part of the conversation.

 

“Temporarily, yeah. I went to visit Declan, came back once I knew you’d have gone back to Yale.” Ronan stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and shrugged his shoulders close to his ears. It was ridiculously charming to see him look so bashful, especially paired with the bad-boy look he’d picked up in this time. “I know it sounds crazy. You can be mad at me, I figured you might be. But I really had no fucking clue what to do. If you had come back after you left me in London then Paris would have never happened. And even though it was messy then, I  _ liked _ what we had in Paris.”

 

Adam knew Ronan had a point, but it still stung. The past year had been awful. But the thing was, as terrible as it had been, it felt kind of…necessary. It had pushed Adam to do so many things: to start applying for better jobs, to tell Blue the truth about his anger, to finally befriend Gansey, and to decide that he didn’t owe his mother anything. 

 

Adam pulled his arms close to himself, feeling overwhelmed and confused and definitely, definitely very cold. Sensing this, Ronan tugged Adam back the way they came.

 

As they walked, he filled in Adam on the rest of his moves. Not long after Adam had returned from London, Ronan decided to move from Henrietta, buying a small farm outside of Connecticut that Gansey had taken Adam to, when he went back to the 1940s. He still lived there now. 

 

“So when I went to Paris… Why was the forest at the Gansey house?”

 

Ronan cleared his throat. “Oh. Well. I was sort of there. At the party.”

 

_ “What?  _ How come I didn’t see you? _ ” _

 

“I kept out of your way,” Ronan admitted. “Though Gansey almost fucked it up. I stayed there, that night, and Gansey came bustling in my room, so excited that you’d gone to him for help. Asked if I would give him some advice about the 20s, since I was  _ ‘such a scholar when it came to the past’ _ and et cetera.”

 

(Adam snickered at Ronan’s imitation of Gansey’s voice. He had perfected Gansey’s accent, down to the elongated vowels and the way his voice somehow exuded wealth.)

 

“If Gansey never mentioned me to you, it’s probably because I told him to fuck off. Made up some excuse about how I didn’t want to meet you because you sounded like an ass or something.” Ronan elbowed him. “Which, to be fair, you were being an ass to Gansey back then. So it wasn’t exactly a lie.”

 

“Har, har.” Adam tried to remember that night at Gansey’s. It was so long ago and his memory was hazy. He’d been so excited to get back to Paris that he hardly paid any attention. “He gave me some money to bring back with me. From his collection. Fuck, I never paid him back for that.”

 

“You don’t need to. It’s your own money.”

 

They were back at the rental house now. Adam paused on the steps of the porch, steadying himself with the railing. “What?”

 

“The money Gansey gave you. It all came from me.”

 

“Okay, so I owe  _ you _ money, then--”

 

Ronan smirked. “No. Because,  _ again _ , it’s  _ your _ money. When you left Paris unexpectedly, you left behind a nice little stash of savings at Henry’s. He found it in your things and gave it to me to hold onto. I invested it. Put some in a savings account, gave a bit to Gansey for his collection. Which he then gave to you.”

 

Adam gripped the rail tighter. “How much money is left?”

 

“A fair amount. Lost a bit of it in your senior year of school, when you needed money.” Ronan avoided Adam’s eyes. “Gansey, um, mentioned you were struggling to pay for school. I didn’t know how to get you your money without meeting you, so Declan helped me make it look like a scholarship.”

 

“Declan?”

 

“Oh yeah. He’s gone soft on you in his old age, a regular romantic.”

 

Adam was dizzy at all the sudden revelations. Here he thought Ronan was missing from his life all this time, when in reality, he was there in so many ways. That stupid scholarship -- God. How many years did Adam scrutinize that scholarship, assuming it was Gansey interfering or feeling like he didn’t truly earn his degree, as if he had somehow taken advantage of a situation he didn’t even know. 

 

“Ronan. I just need to-- I need a minute to get this straight. You… invested my own money… and then that money was used for my own schooling?”

 

“Are you mad?” Ronan asked.

 

Adam grabbed Ronan by the edges of his flannel and pulled him into a kiss. Against his lips, Ronan said, “So proper money investment does it for you, too.”

 

Adam nipped his bottom lip in retaliation. Rather than act as a punishment, it seemed to spur on Ronan, who slid his entire body against Adam. There was no extra room on the balcony, and the press of the railing on his lower back hurt, but Adam didn’t care. Their kiss at the gas station was perfect in its simplicity, but sometimes that’s not what you wanted from a kiss. Sometimes you wanted panting and pulling, or hands and lips to roam to places usually hidden by clothes.

 

It became quite obvious for both of them when the kiss crossed the line from intimate to lewd, and upon feeling the press of Adam against him, Ronan broke away with a groan.

 

“I need to-- Give me a minute here,” Ronan said, breath heavy. “It’s been a long time for me.”

 

“We could go upstairs.”

 

“No. I can’t-- Not quite yet.” Ronan trailed his fingers down the side of Adam’s cheek, so carefully that Adam would hardly know it happened if his eyes weren’t stuck wide at all times. “It’s late. You need to sleep.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“I told Gansey I’d talk to him for a bit longer.”

 

Adam kissed underneath Ronan’s jaw, lettings his lips linger longer than necessary. “Well, it’s an open invitation if you change your mind.”

 

“Isn’t it always?”

 

It usually was.

 

Once inside, Ronan joined Gansey in the living room. Adam watched them for a minute - curious about their dynamic, having known each of the men separately but never together - but walked back upstairs when it became obvious that the conversation would be serious. Gansey did not look like himself. Adam was struck, for a moment, by the impulse to check in on Gansey himself, but thought better of it. Ronan had been Gansey’s friend for over ten years. 

 

Once in bed, Adam had trouble falling asleep, too many thoughts populating his mind. He had too many questions, too many thoughts. Thinking of Ronan and his lips only made Adam more turned on, and with nothing but his own hand to keep him company, he needed a distraction. He took out his phone and began a list of topics he wanted to ask Ronan about.

 

 

  * __What happened to Henry and Noah?__


  * _How are Declan and Matthew?_


  * _What happened in the war?_


  * _Why do you call Blue a maggot?_


  * _What possessed you to get a huge tattoo you giant moron?_


  * _If you never age, what does that mean for us?_



 

 

It was the last question that was nagging at him the most, as selfish as that was. Before, with hundreds of years in-between Ronan and Adam, he never worried about Ronan’s inability to age. It was simply convenient. But now that he was here it was hard not to wonder about it. 

 

It was two in the morning now. Adam really needed to go to bed - they were going lobster hunting in the morning - but nothing worked. 

 

Adam sighed and turned on his stomach, rutting his dick against the bed. It was inevitable it would come to this. At least this time when he jerked off he still had the feel of Ronan’s lips fresh on his skin, the sound of his voice lingering in his ear.

 

Say what you will about masturbation, it was a great way to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning, Gansey and Ronan looked completely wiped. Adam wanted to ask how much sleep either of them had gotten but Tad and his enthusiasm to get on the boat made it difficult. Gansey rallied well once he was on the boat - going on and on about how he was meant to live on the sea, how the smell of the salt air and the whip of the wind was natural caffeination - but Ronan merely tugged a blanket around himself and crouched at the back of the boat.

 

While Tad was distracted by Gansey, Adam took the opportunity to ask Ronan his first question.

 

“We lost Noah a few years ago. That was--” Ronan paused, eyes stuck at the sail of the boat whipping in the wind. “I talk to Henry, still.”

 

“You do?” Adam was surprised. Granted, Ronan had clearly ignored the Lynch family rule of no friends by befriending both Henry and Noah, but if he still spoke with Henry, then the latter man  _ must _ have known about his agelessness. Adam never thought Ronan would break that secret. “How is he?”

 

“He’s good. Stinking old but filthy rich. We could visit him, if you want.”

 

“He knows about me?” Adam asked.

 

Ronan smiled, but in a way that made his face look grim. He proceeded to tell Adam the story, though he clearly left out the most depressing details. Essentially, about a year after Adam disappeared, Noah and Henry broke up. Ronan didn’t know the full story, only that it had to do more with Noah’s family and less about a lack of passion. (“I walked in on them fucking over five times, Adam.  _ Five times. _ ”) 

 

“Anyway, it meant it was just Henry and me in Paris. We…bonded.”

 

“If you didn’t just literally tell me you still talk to him, based on your face right now, I’d say it was a horrible experience.”

 

“It was! He moped. I moped. I didn’t relapse, though, so that was good.” Before Adam could clarify that latter statement, Ronan added, “I can look back on it  _ now _ and laugh, and fuck, I’m not sure I would have stayed as stable as I did without Henry. But let’s just say we are two people who should only spend so much time around one another.”

 

Adam picked at his sweatshirt. Gansey was looking their way now, one eyebrow raised. Adam sensed he didn’t have much time left. “I heard… Noah had kids?”

 

“Adopted,” Ronan confirmed. “He got married to a friend of his, a woman, but it wasn’t like that. She wanted to marry her girlfriend but obviously couldn’t, and he wanted kids and knew they’d never let him without a wife. It worked out well enough. Her partner stayed as their unofficial nanny, Noah got to have a few kids. Their kids knew, I think. It obviously wasn’t  _ perfect, _ but considering how shit everything was back then, it wasn’t a bad arrangement.”

 

“That’s… I don’t know how to feel about that,” Adam admitted. “Not any of this. I thought-- It’s stupid, but when I think back to Paris I think about being in love, and how everything was perfect and fun and I just-- I don’t know. I wanted that for Henry and Noah, too.”

 

Ronan hid a small smile under the blanket. When Adam looked back at him, confused, Ronan cleared his throat and said, “Don’t feel too bad. I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure Henry met up with Noah once he got rich. He took a shit ton of ‘business’ trips to the south.”

 

Adam didn’t get to ask any more questions. Tad came running over with a giant lobster, holding it by its tail, shrieking like a wild man.

 

* * *

 

 

They spent the evening eating pizza and watching History Channel documentaries, per Gansey’s request. Tad - now having clearly realized that Ronan and Adam were an item - outlawed them from sitting next to each other on the couch. (“Dude, like I’m happy if you’re happy, Adam, but this weekend is about Gansey and you two won’t stop eye fucking. Way rude.”)

 

Ronan kept nodding off the whole show, jerking his head abruptly up when he passed out. After the fifth time, Adam nudged him from around Tad’s shoulder and whispered, “Go to bed.”

 

Ronan pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something incomprehensible. Next to Adam, Tad rolled his eyes and whispered, “He never sleeps, Adam. Didn’t you know that?”

 

Later, once everyone was going to bed, Adam pulled Ronan aside to ask about Tad’s comment. Instead, Ronan distracted Adam with a kiss placed strategically under his jaw, then another on his Adam’s apple, then another at his ear. Eventually Adam forgot his question, distracted by the heat of Ronan’s breath and the touch of his fingers sneaking beneath his shirt. He whispered, “Let’s go upstairs.”

 

Tad’s room was still next door but Ronan didn’t seem to care anymore. Once they were in Adam’s room, Ronan took Adam by his shoulders and pushed him against the door, kissing him until both had swollen lips. Adam snaked his hands around Ronan’s neck and under his shirt, and when they needed a minute to catch their breaths, he asked, “When did you get the tattoo?”

 

“Why? Not a fan?”

 

“Not usually.” Adam admitted. God, his voice sounded so breathy, so ridiculous. “But maybe you’ll give me a reason to like them.”

 

Ronan grinned in that perfect way of his - equal parts arrogant and wicked - and stepped back. He tugged his shirt - a black tee, nothing fancy - up and over his head. Adam had seen him shirtless before, a good many times, but there was something different about it this time. It was completely and utterly amazing to watch Ronan strip himself with the knowledge that, this time, Adam got to touch. And touch. And touch.

 

Ronan turned and walked toward the bed, allowing Adam to see his whole tattoo. It spanned the entirety of his back - a black landscape of images morphing together, birds and crosses and trees - and Adam squirmed instinctively. It was not… a bad look. 

 

Ronan peeked over his shoulder. “So…?”

 

Adam licked his bottom lip. 

 

That night, Adam fell asleep with Ronan curled around him, sweaty and satisfied and heart buzzing with energy. When he woke up in the morning Ronan was already up, scrolling through a phone. Adam turned toward him, pressing his bare chest to Ronan’s for warmth, and said, “You have a phone.”

 

“It  _ is _ the 21st-century.”

 

“It’s just weird,” Adam said. “Seeing you with a phone, I mean. I know that you’ve existed all this time, but sometimes I forget that you know about everything I know.”

 

“Don’t get too excited. I hardly use it.” Ronan threw his arm around Adam and rested his cheek against Adam’s head. Abruptly, he said, “I live in Connecticut.”

 

“Do you...want to stay there?” Adam asked, unsure at the sudden change in conversation.

 

“It’s not that I’m attached to Connecticut, but Declan is there and…” 

 

He trailed off, and after a long silence, Adam realized he wasn’t going to continue. He grabbed Ronan’s hand and began to pull at his fingers. “You two seem a lot more close, now.”

 

“We’re in a better place,” Ronan confirmed. He sucked in a quick breath. His next words were spoken so fast that Adam barely understood them. “Also, old age has mellowed him out.”

 

It was the way Ronan said it - fast and nervous, voice on edge - that made Adam realize there was something else to that story. He pulled out of Ronan’s arms so that he could stare at him carefully. “What do you mean by  _ ‘old age’? _ ”

 

Ronan huffed a breath out. “He doesn’t just act like an old man, he actually is one now.”

 

_ “How?” _

 

“He destroyed his token.”

 

Adam was baffled at the simplicity of Ronan’s answer. “Wait,  _ what?” _

 

Ronan dragged a hand down his face. “It’s a long story. It was really dramatic and shit when it happened, we were really fucking scared it wouldn’t work. Like, if we burned the blanket would it kill Declan too? But it worked out fine. If we die first, then the token dies too. But if the token ‘dies,’ then our ability to stay young does, too.”

 

“Ronan, you have to slow down,” Adam pleaded. “What’s this about a blanket?”

 

Ronan frowned. It occurred to Adam, just then, that he’d never really seen Ronan nervous. He spoke so very, very fast. “Oh, did I never tell you? I can’t remember how much I told you. I was more secretive than I remember, fuck. Anyway, Declan’s token - the thing that kept him from aging - is a blanket.”

 

“Your token is a giant, magical, time-traveling forest and Declan got a blanket?”

 

Ronan’s lips turned upward in gleeful fashion. Adam got the distinct impression that Ronan probably teased Declan about this often.

 

“He decided to do it after his daughter was born. Girls don’t get the gift, and I think the thought of not getting to grow old with her, or with Ashley, was too much.” Ronan folded his arms to his bare chest. “It was fucking scary. I was with him the day we did it. He insisted I not tell Ashley in case it went south, the fucking idiot. But it was fine. His beard started greying the next day.”

 

“Shit,” Adam breathed. “How old is he now?”

 

“Not sure exactly, since we never knew when he stopped aging. But… old. Real old. I can’t imagine he has that much time left.”

 

Adam blinked rapidly, as if that would somehow clear the confusion. “I have so many questions.”

 

“You can ask, but I can’t guarantee I’ll know the answers. It’s been a long fucking time with this curse, or gift, whatever the fuck it is, and all I can say for certain is that our tokens give us what we want. Or maybe what we need. For Declan, that manifested itself as a blanket.” Ronan’s eyes skittered over Adam. “For me, it was a forest. A forest that brought me… you.”

 

Adam’s chest swelled, heat tracing from his ears to his toes. “Oh.”

 

“I love Cabeswater,” Ronan said slowly, as if thinking of his words carefully. “But if you meant what you said, all those years ago…”

 

“About…?”

 

Ronan’s cheeks warmed and turned a pleasant shade of pink. He wasn’t one to blush, but when he did, it was painfully obvious against his pale skin.

 

“Just… That thing you said before the war…” 

 

Adam racked his brain. Why was Ronan bringing up Cabeswater? What would Adam have said that would make Ronan blush so much--

 

Oh. 

 

_ “When you come back from the war, will you marry me?” _

 

Adam was sure his cheeks turned the same violent shade of red that Ronan wore. Ronan could tell that Adam had clued in because he quickly sputtered, “It’s not like I expect  _ that _ , I know it was the heat of the moment. But if you  _ are _ serious about me--”

 

“I am,” Adam said quickly. “I’ve known it would be you, and only you, for a long time now.”

 

“Oh.” Ronan sat straight in bed. “Good.”

 

Adam brushed his knuckles against his lips to hide his ridiculous smile. Under the sheets he reached out his toes to pinch Ronan’s calf. Ronan rolled his eyes, but he had that same, stupid smile gracing his face.

 

Suddenly, though, it dawned on Adam what this meant. “But that would mean-- You’d have to destroy the forest.”

 

Ronan’s eyes fluttered shut in pain for a moment. Adam wondered if he was picturing it: Cabeswater, cold and dark, yet always reaching out, branches hanging down to guide them thrrough the maze.

 

“We have time to think about it. To figure it out,” Ronan said eventually. “But I don’t know if I can move from Connecticut at the moment. Not until Declan…”

 

Adam reached for his hand and squeezed it. “We survived the long distance before. We can do it again. And anyway, like you said. We have… time.”

 

* * *

 

 

They had one more day in Portland. Adam was so swept up in with being with Ronan that he hardly thought of Gansey and his upcoming wedding. He forced himself to focus on Gansey, on making the weekend about his friend. 

  
They spent the first half of the day interviewing people in the town about Glendower, and the second cooking lobster. (Only one of which they caught. The rest was bought from a grocery store, being that no one but Tad had any skill catching lobsters.) He still craved Ronan’s touch, and in many ways Adam knew he always would, but when he focused on his friend - the way Gansey’s eyes lit up when he spoke about his passions, or how easy it was to poke fun at him - he found it easy to set aside that insatiable desire. That evening they built a fire on the beach and talked, and for the first time in a year, Adam felt completely and utterly happy. 

 

He had friends.

 

He had Ronan.

 

It was perfect.

 

* * *

 

The morning they had to return, Adam took one look at the bags under Ronan’s eyes and asked, “Did you sleep okay?”   
  


“Not used to these beds,” Ronan muttered. 

 

He allowed Ronan to drive one hour before Adam forced him to pull over. Ronan drove a BMW - a model Adam had worked with plenty of times back when he was at Boyd’s - and he knew how to drive it. Ronan complained it was unnecessary; it wasn’t until Adam begged him, citing the excuse that Tad was driving him crazy, did Ronan relent.

 

Adam noticed Ronan doze off a few times throughout the trip, though nothing more than short naps. As soon as Adam assumed Ronan was finally good and sleeping, he’d look into the rear-view mirror to see Ronan’s eyes open and alert, staring at the passing cars outside. 

 

They arrived at the Gansey house late in the evening. Ronan lingered next to Adam as they said their goodbyes - or in Tad’s case, as he made up an individual secret handshake for each of the groomsmen - and then followed him to his car.

 

Ronan ran his fingers along the top of Adam’s car. “Could I… come back with you to D.C.? For a couple days?”

 

Adam grinned. “You don’t even need to ask, Ronan.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they were back in D.C. it was almost midnight. Ronan’s feet dragged as he walked up the three flights of stairs to Adam’s place. In his hand was a cup of coffee bought, from the looks of it, at a cheap gas station. 

 

Ronan looked around Adam’s apartment as he got ready for bed, surveying his things with an unreadable expression. Adam cringed. Surely Ronan would wonder why Adam didn’t have any pictures or possessions; his apartment was empty, sans for the necessary furniture and kitchen gadgets needed to survive. Except for his bookshelf. That he’d stuffed to the brim with the textbooks he’d bought over the years and couldn’t bear to resell, many of them for his History major. 

 

When Ronan bit back a yawn, Adam said, “You look wiped. Did you sleep at all last night?”

 

Ronan pressed his palm into his eye. “Gansey needed me.”

 

“The whole night?”

 

There was a pause, a moment where Adam realized,  _ Oh, there’s more to this. _ Then Ronan reached for Adam, clearly to pull him into another kiss by the look in his eyes. Adam ducked away, inching back to sit on the couch, and said, “No way. I’m not letting you avoid conversations anymore. You’ve had over a hundred years to break this habit.”

 

“It’s also been almost a hundred years since I got any consistent action, Adam, what about  _ that?” _

 

“Wait, give me a second to relish being in this position.” Adam shut his eyes and smiled. “God, this feels good.  _ You _ , wanting it,  _ me, _ practicing resistance like an adult.”

 

The joke landed for a few seconds - Ronan huffed in complaint, rolling his eyes for good show - while Adam smiled smugly. But then there was nothing else to add, no additional joke or quip, and they were left with the original predicament. Ronan knew it, obviously, but instead of coming clean about what was bothering him, he lingered near the bookcase, running his fingers along the spines.

 

Adam pulled a pillow to his chest and hugged it. “Do you not sleep well?” 

 

Ronan shrugged, but in the distinct and obvious way that one means,  _ Yes, _ and not actually,  _ Who knows. _ Adam watched him carefully. There was something about that night, more than the past few days together, that made Adam realize something was wrong. Maybe it was the dimly lit room, moody and quiet, making Adam realize that not all was well. Or maybe it was because they were here, in Adam’s element, and not away in the magic of the quaint vacation home by the lake. There was nothing to distract them here. 

 

“Come here,” Adam said, holding out his hand to Ronan. His walk to the couch was stiff, like Ronan knew what was going to happen, but couldn’t resist Adam’s pull. Once Ronan had fallen into the couch next to him, Adam licked his bottom lip, inhaled deep, and asked, “You keep talking about Declan, but you haven’t mentioned Matthew once. What… What happened in the war?”

 

Ronan’s hands began to tap against his thighs, and when that didn’t satisfy him, he began to tug at a few leather bands he had around his wrist. When Adam looked carefully at them he noticed bite marks. 

 

“It’s-- It’s not something I want to talk about, not tonight,” Ronan said finally. “And before you try to lecture me about it, I guarantee Declan made me do anything you could suggest. I’ve done rehab, I’ve tried therapy, I did the whole medication thing and I just-- It’s what it is.”

 

Adam didn’t want to think too long about how Ronan’s response - without mentioning Matthew once - spelled things out quite clearly. He rested his head on Ronan’s shoulder and linked their hands together.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should have been there.”

 

Ronan sniffed, and Adam wondered whether he’d see tears in his eyes if he had the courage to look. “Not your fault. Anyway. I survived.”

 

Adam wanted to ask a million questions.  _ What happened in the war? When did he die? Were you there? Did it kill you, too?  _

 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” Adam whispered, voice awfully loud in the static silence of the apartment. “But I’m not going to make the same mistake again, Ronan. It’s been a long time for you and I know you’ve-- You’ve been through a lot. It’s really easy for me to act like nothing has changed, to think I can just kiss you and everything will be like it used to be, but I know--”

 

“Adam--”

 

He couldn’t look at Ronan. With his head still resting on Ronan’s shoulder it was impossible to see his expression anyway, but all the same, Adam shut his eyes. “I just need you to know that I loved you then, and I will love you now, too. All of you. Even the parts that are different. Even the parts that are hurting, the parts that will need time.”

 

The silence in his apartment was awful. Adam wished he had a clock, because as awful as it was to hear the seconds ticking by, nothing was worse than confessing your feelings to absolute silence. Adam knew time was malleable and wondered if he’d somehow learned how to stop it completely, to strike it dead. 

 

Ronan’s voice cracked when he said it back. “I love you.”

 

There was more to it and, heart twisting, Adam pressed, “But…?”

 

“It’s not a ‘but’ like that. I love you. I love you completely. I loved you then and I love you now,” he echoed. Then, Ronan licked his bottom lip.  _ “But…” _

 

Adam wasn’t sure what he meant and it must have showed on his face. Ronan shifted on the couch, turning so that Adam was forced to look at him. He trailed his fingers against the curve of Adam’s deaf ear. “You never told me that he… That it was that bad.”

 

Adam’s heart sped. It wasn’t as bad as when he had panic attacks, nothing close to that, but he could  _ feel _ it thumping. His heart knew the conversation that was about to happen and it wanted to run away. Adam didn’t blame it.

 

Ronan’s eyes were watching him carefully. He dropped his hand from Adam’s ear, perhaps realizing it was too much for him, and instead slipped his hand under the cotton of Adam’s sweatshirt. His thumb brushed at Adam’s hipbone. 

 

“I’m fine now,” Adam said, voice hoarse. 

 

“You were a kid and he hurt you.” Ronan shifted on the couch, dropping his forehead to the curve of Adam’s neck. 

 

He thought to Ronan’s earlier words and mimicked him. “I survived.”

 

“Had I known, I never would have let it happen.”

 

“Are you mad at me for not telling you?” There was an edge to his voice. It was in him still, after all these years, to be on the defensive. 

 

“No, fuck, that’s not-- I didn’t meant it like that. I just-- _ ” _ Ronan sighed and the breath was warm on Adam’s neck. “I’m trying to practice being honest. With you, in particular. I lived in Henrietta the whole time he was abusing you and I could have stepped in--”

 

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

 

“Adam.” Ronan pulled away and ran a hand down his face. He looked so tired. So very tired. Guilt twisted his stomach until he felt nauseous. “I’m not good at this and I’m fucking it up. I just-- I wasn’t there for you, when you needed it most.”

 

“Neither was I,” Adam countered. He laughed, a little hysteric, a dash of bitter. “What a fucking mess we are.”

 

“Wait, that’s my point. What I’m trying to get at,” Ronan said. He placed both hands on the sides of Adam’s face and turned his chin, forcing them to look eye to eye. “We are two people with a lot of fucking baggage. And I’ve thought a lot about how -- well, how easy it would be for me to fuck all this up because of all my shit. And that was before I even knew that you had been hurting this whole time too and I never really realized it.”

 

“What are you saying?” His heartbeats were painful now. He didn’t like the direction of the conversation.

 

“Not that. Never that.” It was not an appropriate time to kiss, but perhaps sensing Adam’s panic, Ronan pressed forward to brush their lips together. It was stupid how easily it it lessened the pain. As if his brain just needed the reminder that a heart beating fast wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. 

 

Ronan pulled back and rested his forehead against Adam’s forehead. His eyes were closed, but Adam couldn’t bring himself to do the same. He so rarely got to look at Ronan without the other man staring back.

 

“I’m saying that we need to acknowledge that this won’t be easy. That we are two people who’ve been hurt, and who’ve never had the chance to support each other when we needed it most.” Ronan’s eyes slit open. They were as ever blue, as ever perfect. “I’m saying that if you love the parts of me that are hurting, then you need to let me love those parts of you, too.”

 

When Adam exhaled, the breath was shaking. He hated this. He’d spent his whole life being self-reliant and strong and, arguably, running from his problems. He didn’t want to face them. He wanted to keep blazing forward and never look back. Isn’t that what Blue had said? He was best when he was relentlessly working toward his future. 

 

But--

 

_ But. _

 

The thing about moving forward was that you had to know where you started. There could be no finish line if you didn’t know where the race began, and you couldn’t trace your progress if you didn’t confront your failures. Adam would never be able to completely get past his past, no, but maybe it wasn’t about that. Maybe it was just about balance. It was looking back only when your goal was to move forward. It would be hard and unpleasant and he knew there’d be moments where he could get stuck in it, the past, and let it haunt him if he wasn’t careful.

 

But the thing was, it wasn’t so scary anymore. Not when he had Ronan to do it with him. 

 

Adam was so wound tight that he needed a release. He said, voice light and joking, “Oof.”

 

“I know. It’s awful.” Ronan pulled back and stood from the couch. He offered his hand to Adam. “We’ll have to be honest and shit. Talk about feelings.”

 

Adam took his hand. “Gross.”

 

Ronan pressed his lips to Adam’s eyebrow, humming under his breath. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

“Will you be okay?” Even as he asked, Adam tugged Ronan toward his bedroom. He planned to force Ronan to sleep regardless of the answer.

 

“Maybe.” Ronan’s smile was a beautiful thing. It was a little bit broken, true, but when Ronan smiled he gave every little bit of himself to Adam. Every worry, every truth. “Can I wake you if I’m not?”

 

Adam squeezed his hand. 

 

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: again, thank you so much for reading and following this story. This chapter was originally meant to be the last one - knowing, specifically, that some answers were left unsaid because I planned to tackle it in the side Ronan story - however there were a couple things to Adam's actual arc that I felt needed to be added. So, as such, I decided to add an epilogue about half way into posting it and thus it's the only part that's not actually finished. Now, I have the scenes mapped out but just not completely written, so I'm not totally sure when it will go up, hopefully soon enough. (Also, I figure this way if anyone brings up a question that I'm like, oh crap, I need to add that in, I still have time.) 
> 
> Second: in some ways I feel like the ending to Ronan's agelessness a little anti-climatic in this, but it's kind of intentional. Because to me, that's not Adam's big conflict. His conflict has always been internal, Human vs. Self, the struggle to overcome your past but not getting stuck in it, versus Ronan is a bit more magical, he's often fighting the passage of time, of not dying, of being ageless, etc. So I plan to make the big reveal a bit more intense in Ronan's POV, but I figured, in Adam's, it wasn't his big thing so Ronan kind of skims over it. It just occurred to me a few days ago that, had I had more stamina, I should have split this into two parts: Adam's arc, which would have ended last chapter, and then immediately cut to Ronan's arc, which would have started from the very beginning. (Talk about a slow burn in that way, then.) Then I could have had this question of "Okay, so what do they do now that they're together and Ronan doesn't age?" and prolonged it to a THIRD mystery, and the you could see Ronan go through the process and etc. before finally putting them back together at the very end. 
> 
> Last, just as a fun little trivia bit I thought you might enjoy knowing: for the longest time, Matthew was always going to be Declan's token. It was meant to be a slight reference to the books (where Ronan created Matthew) but also stand as further reason why Ronan was going to be SO insistent about following Matthew to the war. Then Matthew was going to die, Declan would have started aging, and they'd know they get to age if the token is destroyed. However, at some point I realized it just couldn't work. Part because I had already had Aurora be Niall's token and it felt too repetitive to have Declan do the same, but more so, because it took away Declan's choice in doing this for his brother. Obviously you don't get much of this in Adam's POV and will see more in Ronan's, but I really wanted Declan to consider destroying his token because he really did want Ronan to be happy. He has his family, which is also solid reasoning, but Declan has a very protective streak and I wanted to give him the opportunity to sort of "make it up" to Ronan.


	15. To Believe in Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the very end. I hope you enjoy!

 

 

 

 

Tad did not wear a turquoise suit to the wedding like Adam feared. Instead he wore charcoal, like the rest of them did. Gansey’s mother had insisted they each wear a boutonniere in blending shades of coral and sunset, the wedding colors Adam was almost positive Blue did not agree to, and it was all very pleasing to the eye. Ronan did not enjoy wearing the suit but Adam very much enjoyed Ronan wearing the suit, which he explained in great detail to the man in a random supply closet before the wedding began.

 

When Tad ripped the door open, looking thoroughly unamused to see Adam with his shirt completely unbuttoned and Ronan’s hands tucked into his slacks, Adam thought it was jealousy that made Tad’s eyes narrow. It was not jealousy, in fact.

 

_It was the fact that Gansey had fucking disappeared and Tad couldn’t find him and they’d chosen now, of all times, to have a quickie?_

 

There was only an hour left until the wedding at this point. Adam stood in the closet, dazed, only vaguely aware that Ronan was buttoning his shirt for him and cursing under his breath. Adam could only think of Blue - who he’d peeked on earlier, looking beautiful in a dress hand-sewn by Orla that didn’t match the polished look up of the reception hall at all - and how nervous she was to walk down the aisle in front of so many strangers.

 

_And Gansey was missing?_

 

Tad said he was going to drive around the area and hustled off. Ronan tugged Adam in the opposite direction as Adam asked, “Is this-- I’m confused. Why would he _leave_?”

 

“He’s probably freaking out. Maybe a panic attack. We need to find him.”

 

_“Gansey?”_

 

Ronan leveled his gaze at Adam, and oh, of course. Adam had his ideas about Gansey - his beliefs, his notions, his prejudices - and he thought he’d made great progress in letting those go. Still, there were moments where they still crept in on him, like now. Hadn’t Gansey been the one to talk Adam down from a panic attack all those months ago? Wasn’t he the one who knew the tricks to stay focused and calm?

 

How would he know that without having gone through it himself?

 

They searched the church together, but when fifteen minutes passed without finding him, it became apparent they needed to split up. The wedding was at a church in DC - despite no one from either side being religious, though the Ganseys insisted for tradition’s sake - and had very few rooms inside to hide. There was a small bridal suite, an office for the groomsmen, and maybe two or three small rooms dedicated for bathrooms. Ronan decided to search the church garden.

 

Adam was tasked with staying at the church, partly in case Gansey returned, but more importantly, as a way to distract Blue if she asked questions. He was fulfilling the latter duties in the church’s kitchen by fetching Blue a small snack when he heard a bump near the cupboards.

 

It was Gansey. Tucked into a cupboard small enough that Gansey had to pull his knees to his chest to fit.

 

“Oh, hello Adam,” Gansey said, voice eerily chipper. His face was darkened by the shadows of the cupboard, but Adam thought he looked pale. (At the very least he looked less like a bronzed god and more like a normal human, which in itself seemed worrisome.) There was sweat clinging to the crown of his forehead.

 

Adam didn’t know what to say. His mouth hung open as he stared, rather helplessly, at Gansey. Eventually, Adam sputtered, “What are you doing here?”

 

Gansey looked around the cupboard thoughtfully, lips sucked tightly into his mouth. “Oh, yes. Well. This just seemed like a nice place to relax.”

 

“The cupboard?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Adam waited for Gansey. Gansey stared back at Adam, lips stretched too tight into a smile. His fingers were tapping furiously at his thighs.

 

Adam sighed. _“Gansey.”_

 

“I’ll be okay!” Gansey’s voice was a little too high. His next words tumbled out of him too fast. “It’s nothing really. I just was thinking about the wedding and Blue and all those people. And being married. And I thought how much I loved Blue and I just got a little overwhelmed, so I went to get some water, and then I saw this cupboard and I thought, _‘Wow, I wonder if I could fit in it,’_ and so I tested it out to see and wouldn’t you know--”

 

Adam reached forward and pressed two fingers to Gansey’s neck, searching for a pulse. It was beating wildly. The touch seemed to shock Gansey into silence. It took at least ten seconds for Adam to realize that it had also caused Gansey to stop breathing.

 

“You need to breathe,” Adam said gently. He held up his hand and started counting. “Inhale for one…two...three...four… Gansey, you can do this, okay? Inhale. Okay, good. Now exhale. One...two...three...four…”

 

Gansey handled his panic attacks differently from Adam; that became abundantly clear. If you weren’t looking carefully enough, one might not even notice Gansey _was_ having a panic attack. He smiled through the whole thing, making sure to nod in response to anything Adam asked, but his eyes were distant. Empty. Adam forced Gansey to breathe until the smile dripped off his face, until Gansey was gnawing at his lips.

 

Adam wished Ronan were here. The two of them had been friends longer and Ronan had experience talking Gansey through panic attacks. Adam felt woefully unprepared.

 

“You have nothing to worry about, Gansey,” Adam said eventually, lowering his voice to a whisper. No one was around but it felt necessary. “You love Blue. You said it yourself. You’re going to be so happy with her, I promise.”

 

It was apparently the wrong thing to say. Gansey pressed his fingers into his face, as if he were trying to claw the skin away, and exhaled rough. “No, no, it’s not that. It has nothing to do with _my_ happiness.”

 

Adam took Gansey’s hands from his face and held tightly onto his fingers. He didn’t think Gansey would hurt himself, but seeing that he’d be starring in a million photos soon, Adam didn’t think Mrs. Gansey would appreciate even the smallest of scratches.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Adam asked.

 

Gansey leaned his head against the back of the cupboard and closed his eyes. It was a very long time before Gansey said, voice so steady that it took some time for Adam to realize he’d said something important: “I have PTSD.”

 

Adam did not know this. He was tempted, momentarily, to ask, _What from?_ but years of people digging into his own trauma taught him that there was no point in asking; the answer was never something you could sum up in a few words, let alone in the aftermath of a panic attack. Instead, Adam said, “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s gotten worse since the engagement. I don’t know why. Maybe just the stress-- and my mother and-- well,” Gansey pinched the bridge of his nose. “It keeps happening.”

 

“If it’s triggered by the wedding then it should get a little better, now that it’s almost over. Right?”

 

“Probably. But-- I just… I’m not so sure this is a good idea anymore.”

 

Gansey still had his eyes shut. Adam was grateful because, abruptly, he couldn’t keep the look of contempt off his face. He could only think of Blue, in her wedding suite, buzzing with energy, saying, _Adam, I’m so ready to just be married._ Was Gansey really thinking of canceling the wedding? _Now?_ Blue would be humiliated.

 

Before his anger could rear its head, Gansey, in a tone Adam had never heard from him - feeble and broken - said, “What kind of person would I be to let her marry me? I can’t keep my shit together and it’s just a big party. What will I be like if something serious happens? I can’t-- I can’t do that to her.”

 

“She loves you,” Adam said.

 

Again, Adam’s words seemed to only upset him further. Gansey covered his face with his hands and tensed his shoulders, pulling himself tighter into a ball. “I know. And it’s blinded her. She doesn’t realize that this is what our entire lives will be like. I’ve made her cry so much the past couple months and I can’t do that to her, Adam. I can’t let her go through life--”

 

“Hey, Gansey, no. _No._ ”

 

There was not enough room for both of them in that cupboard but Adam didn’t care. He pushed himself as far into it as he could, knees bumping awkwardly against the sides. Adam was surprised Gansey felt safer in this tight space because it felt constricting and suffocating to him, but Gansey seemed to fractionally relax the tighter the space became.

 

“Blue _loves_ you,” Adam repeated, more firmly this time. When Gansey made the motion to respond, Adam added, “Let’s be real, Gansey: has Blue _ever_ done anything she doesn’t want to do?”

 

“No, but--”

 

“Right. No ‘buts’ - end it there. She doesn’t. She never will.” Adam placed his hand on Gansey’s shoulder and squeezed. “Look, I-- I understand why you’re worried. I know it’s hard to imagine that someone could be happy with you when everything feels so fucked up and messy and… _dark._ But they can.”

 

Gansey shut his eyes and inhaled quickly through his nose. It sounded so loud when they were trapped in the cupboard.

 

“But is it _fair,_ Adam?” Gansey asked finally. “If I know that this will be in my life, if it’s always going to be a fight I’m losing, is it fair for me to ask her to go to battle with me every time?”

 

“Who says you’re losing?”

 

“I’m in a cupboard having a panic attack. On my wedding day. I’m definitely losing.”

 

“But you haven’t lost,” Adam countered. “Gansey, you deserve love. We all do, whether our brains are a little broken or whether we have to fight battles that we might never win.”

 

“But it isn’t _fair--”_

 

“Maybe it’s not, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re marrying someone who has made the choice to marry you and support you all on her own. And you have to trust her decision, Gansey.” Adam fiddled with his fingers, popping his knuckles. “I understand why it’s hard. With all my shit-- well, I know what I can handle, and ultimately I know I can survive. And it’s been an adjustment to be with Ronan, to realize that I can’t just-- I can’t keep doing things all by myself, that me just surviving isn’t good enough. I worry all the fucking time whether I’m too much for him, or whether my baggage will get too heavy for him.

 

“But I know he’d tell me if it did. And I have to trust that.”

 

Gansey pinched the bridge of his nose. “And if it does get too much? Don’t you worry about that, too?”

 

“Me? Worry? Doesn’t sound like me.”

 

Gansey groaned. “Adam, I’m being serious.”

 

“It’s because I don’t know, Gansey. I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. But life has a way of happening, no matter how much you think about it, so I might as well do what makes me happy and trust Ronan will do the same.”

 

Gansey fell silent. Adam’s neck and back were screaming at him to get out of the cupboard but he stayed there, knowing Gansey needed time to decompress. Eventually they left and headed back to the almost equally small room designated for the groomsmen, where Adam readjusted Gansey’s tie and boutonniere and forced him to drink a Gatorade. With Gansey’s permission Adam texted Tad and Ronan to come back.

 

Tad arrived first. Adam worried he would say something inappropriate, but Tad surprised him by taking one look at Gansey and offering a fistbump.

 

“You’ve got this, man,” Tad said.

 

By the time Ronan arrived Gansey was back to himself, or at least the version he presented to everyone else. Ronan pulled Adam aside to privately ask him about it. In an attempt to be subtle about it, he offered to fix Adam’s tie and pulled him outside the room. (Though it clearly failed, based on Tad’s loud snort that trailed through the door.)

 

“What happened?” Ronan asked. His fingers slid to Adam’s tie to keep up appearances. Or maybe just to touch him. The latter seemed more likely, as they’d done nothing _but_ touch one another the past few months. “Is Gansey okay?”

 

“He was in the kitchen,” Adam said. He didn’t see the point in lying to Ronan, not when he already knew Gansey’s secrets, but it felt unnecessarily cruel to add that he found him in a _cupboard._ “We talked. He’ll be okay.”

 

Ronan peered at Adam carefully. As usual, he had seen something in Adam that made him pause. Ronan’s hand trailed down the silk of Adam’s tie until it fell at his side, twitching nervously.

 

“And you?” Ronan licked his bottom lip. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Adam squeezed his boyfriend’s hand. “I really am.”

 

* * *

 

 

Blue and Gansey got married. Their vows were perfect - Blue’s the perfect match of cynicism and honesty, Gansey’s charming and vaguely self-deprecating - and the tiny ring-bearer, one of Blue’s little cousins, shrieked loudly when they kissed, leaving the entire church chuckling in delight.

 

Ronan’s speech was short. It included only two F-bombs, neither of which were _supposed_ to be there, and Adam saw Mrs. Gansey cross her heart at each one. Still, Gansey and Blue seemed to enjoy it, which was all that mattered. Adam took one small sip of champagne for each toast and let that be the only alcohol he touched all night.

 

Adam successfully pulled Ronan to the dancefloor only two times. The first one only happened after Tad had asked Adam to dance, whereupon Tad’s hand slipped a little lower than necessary. Ronan was there quickly, shoving Tad away and muttering under his breath about “the audacity of some people” and “mother fucker thinks he’s so sly.”

 

“How much longer do we have to stay?” Ronan whispered into Adam’s ear as they danced.

 

“I think it’s our job to help clean up after.”

 

“Fuck _that._ We spent all morning setting up!”

 

“How are you hundreds of years old and you’ve never been in a wedding party before? This is standard procedure.”

 

Ronan groaned in his ear. Adam found it unnecessarily rude of him and, in retaliation, whispered everything he planned to do to Ronan in their fancy suite that night. (Which only backfired, in the end, because Adam got himself too worked up and Ronan found it hilarious.)

 

Gansey and Blue took off around nine, and the wedding wrapped up shortly after. True to the schedule, they were both pulled into the clean-up efforts. Ronan played nice for an hour, until Mrs. Gansey asked them both to carry the vases out to her car. Once they were safely tucked inside, Ronan took Adam by the hand and pulled him around the back of the venue instead of going back inside.

 

“The key to our room is in my jacket, which is back in the reception hall,” Adam warned.

 

“Who says we’re going to the hotel?”

 

“Oh, did Cabeswater make it after all?” Adam joked.

 

It did. The forest was behind the venue waiting patiently for them. By this point in the year the weather had turned, making it almost impossible to stay outside without a jacket for long. Cabeswater, however, welcomed them with figurative open arms, making sure it was warm and dimly lit despite the evening hour.

 

Adam reached up to the branches in a silent thank you, twisting his fingers through the vines. They tightened around his hand.

 

The truth was, as much as Adam wanted to take Ronan’s elaborate suit off his body piece by piece, Cabeswater wasn’t an ideal place to have sex. Ignoring the obvious factors like twigs and dirt and the like, Cabeswater had enough personality that Adam always felt like someone was watching them.

 

Still, he didn’t mind sitting cross legged across from Ronan and kissing him slowly. Cabeswater had let a sliver of moonlight fall over them and it felt too romantic to pass up.

 

Eventually Ronan dragged his lips to Adam’s jaw and said, “You know, you promised me one of these things a while ago. When’s my wedding?”

 

Adam laughed. “Do you want something like this?”  


“Fuck no.” Ronan placed his lips on Adam’s throat this time and let them linger before he said, “I just want you.”

 

“We can make it official whenever,” Adam said. He was finding it hard to concentrate when Ronan kissed him so delicately but in places decidedly intimate. “But we do… Need to talk about _this_ first.”

 

Ronan pulled away to look where Adam was pointing. When he saw he meant Cabeswater, Ronan sighed. “I know.”

 

“You don’t have to do it, you know,” Adam whispered. “I love Cabeswater. It’s sweet and it loves us both and the idea of destroying it--”

  
“I know. But I think it knows. It’s ready. It brought you to me, after all, so it had to know…”

 

“Are you sure you want to, though? It’s not just about Cabeswater, Ronan. If you do this-- I mean, you’re throwing away your life for me. Literally.”

 

Ronan tucked a strand of Adam’s hair behind his ear and smiled. “That part doesn’t worry me at all, okay? I’m ready. I want to grow old with you and all that gross shit.”

 

“Ronan--”

 

“I’m serious. I’ve had years to think about this, Adam. Anyway, it’s…time.  I’d want this even if you weren’t in the picture. Matthew is gone, Declan and Henry won’t last much longer. Gansey and Blue will only live for so long. I’m tired of people growing old and leaving me. For once I want to grow up _with_ people.”

 

Adam resisted the urge to sigh. Truthfully, he was terrified at the idea of Ronan destroying Cabeswater. There was so much room for Ronan to regret his decision, for him to grow old and bitter toward Adam. And like Gansey said, what if Ronan found Adam too much? What if he felt obligated to stay with Adam because he’d made such a huge sacrifice?

 

Ronan must have sensed his worry because he leaned forward and cupped Adam’s cheeks in his hands. “I love you.”

 

“I just don’t-- I don’t want to rush the decision,” Adam said finally. “I want you to think carefully about it. I know you’ve probably done nothing _but_ think about it this whole time, but you weren’t actually _with_ me during the past 70 years.”

 

“Adam. _I love you.”_ Ronan kissed Adam at his cheekbone. “I’m not worried.”

 

Adam let Ronan kiss him in an effort to get rid of his dark thoughts. His therapist might argue it wasn’t the healthiest of coping mechanisms, but God did it work. Ronan was intoxicating.

 

“We can wait, it’s fine,” Ronan said eventually. “Though I want to do it before you turn 26.”

 

That left only about eight months. Adam asked, “Why?”

 

Ronan shot Cabeswater a sly look. “Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Why Cabeswater stopped my age at 25? That’s the age we finally got to be together.”

 

Adam hadn’t thought of that and the realization took him aback. He laughed, a little breathless, and stared up into Cabeswater’s branches. There was no wind but they swung toward him, gracefully arching through the air in a way that made him think of Ronan’s laughter.

 

“See? It was always Cabeswater. Or the universe, or fate. Whatever you want to call it,” Ronan whispered. He ran his nose along Adam’s jaw and sighed happily. “There was always a plan for you and me to be together.”

 

Adam closed his eyes, happy to be given such attention by both Ronan and Cabeswater. He felt so completely warm and perfect where he was - Ronan humming in his ear, the rustle of Cabeswater’s leaves echoing in his deaf ear - and it was almost overwhelming to think that this had been the plan all along. That the road he took, the road which was so long and so painful, all led to this.

 

If fate were real - and it seemed to be  it made the journey worth it. Because it wasn’t just about Ronan. It was Blue and it was Gansey, too, and more than anything, it was happiness. The universe wanted Adam to be happy.

 

But--

 

Adam wanted himself to be happy, and that seemed important to note, too. He voiced this to Ronan, whispering, “It might be fate. But I think it was just as much my choice. And your choice. Everything, really, was a choice we made. You made a choice to forgive me for leaving, to trust me again, to wait for me. I made a choice to not go back, which finally led me to you.”

 

Adam slipped his fingers into Ronan’s and smiled down at their joined hands. “I’m willing to believe that there are higher powers at play here. But I don’t want to discount that we worked very hard to get to this place. That there were so many moments that we could have said it was too hard but we didn’t. We made the choice to fight, and I think that’s important, too.”

 

Ronan squeezed his hand. “I’m always going to choose you. I want you to know that.”

 

“Don’t do that,” Adam breathed. “Choose happiness, okay?”

 

Ronan pulled back and looked at Adam in that careful way of his. The one that pulled Adam apart, piece by piece, sometimes in ways that were too much but often, in nights like this, just the right amount.

 

Eventually he said, “Okay. I promise I’ll always choose happiness. But you should know, Adam, that happiness is always going to be you. Every time.”

 

Adam leaned forward and kissed Ronan.

 

“I can live with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. Thank you so, so much for reading this story! I appreciate every comment, kudo, Tweet, message on Tumblr, everything, everything, everything you give to me. I'm working on the Ronan POV but I have no idea how long it will take me to write it and thus no idea when it'll get posted. 
> 
> A special thank you to Renee, who not only fixed my numerous grammar/spelling mistakes and helped me figure out how to not repeat words as it's my personal kryptonite, but also to bounce ideas back and keep me going. <33
> 
> I wanted to compile a quick list of some of the amazing art/edits/music people made for this story, in case you want to look at them too, but mainly to say THANK YOU again:  
> \- [Carly's beautiful edit](http://admlynch.tumblr.com/post/167432565147/the-more-he-kissed-ronan-the-more-it-became-a)  
> \- Let's be real, [all of you in chapter 13](https://iloe.tumblr.com/post/167291533042/lydia-st-james-thank-you-for-chapter-13-of-the) by [iloe](https://iloe.tumblr.com/).  
> \- Renee's [amazing playlist](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Fuser%2Fburn-it-slow%2Fplaylist%2F1crdNf7skXm8MbqbXs6AXm&t=ZGI3MjVlMjY4MDIzOTQ4NDY5MzYxZjFlMzQ0ZjNlMTg1MTRlNzY0Mix1QVk4clRBdA%3D%3D&b=t%3A2VzYwQgWsan-0OXeWbR0ZA&p=http%3A%2F%2Flydia-st-james.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F167183513681%2Fwere-one-too-many-worlds-apart-a-playlist-by&m=1) for all your angst feels. (I love them all.)  
> \- This [AMAZING FANART](http://flowersalad.tumblr.com/post/166707774308/lydia-st-james-i-believe-you-have-expressed-some) by [Somno](http://flowersalad.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I feel like I'm probably missing something so please remind me if I am!
> 
> A lot of people have recommended songs that remind them of this story and I'm going to try and put them all into one playlist as well, I just gotta' sit down and do it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and thank you in advance to anyone who comments or Kudos! 
> 
> Thank you to Renee for being my beta for this and boosting my ego with lovely comments and support!


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